Status Update: Facebook as a Reflection Tool

Written by David Bowles, Assistant Museum Educator for School Programs, Metropolitan Museum of Art

Cross-posted with Museum Questions, a blog authored by Rebecca Herz that is dedicated to questions about museums and thoughts on creating a reflective practice.

This blog post is about listening and reflection. As a museum educator, my job is to listen. On a good tour, I learn about as much about art from visitors as they learn from me. I also learn something about their lives. But often it seems like these moments evaporate. So for the past two years, I have been posting some of the most indelible teachable moments from my gallery experiences on Facebook.

I limit myself to one moment per tour. I try to stick to the facts, and not interpret the child’s ideas in my own words. I describe the context succinctly, and stick to a few sentences at most. I imagine reflecting on the teaching experience with someone who has never heard of the field of museum education – so no jargon allowed. When it makes sense, I include a visual of the artwork that sparked the teachable moment.

The moments I capture tend to be funny, which is why they make good Facebook posts. But they also highlight important moments of discovery, and often mark pivot points in gallery conversations. I try to focus on what Piaget might have called moments of disequilibrium – those wonderful, maddening moments when you discover for yourself that what you thought was simple, is not.

Here are three such experiences, some thoughts on what I’ve learned about school tours and student visitors along the way, and tips for anyone interested in giving this a try.

1.  Fear of the Unknown


“A 7th grade student on a tour in the Ancient Egypt galleries this morning pointed out that he would rather be chased by mummies than velociraptors.”

I think the young man’s logic was that mummies chasing him through the Museum were likely to shuffle along slowly, while raptors are nimble pack hunters (as anyone who saw the kitchen scene from the original Jurassic Park can attest). He makes a valid point. This comment sparked a stimulating conversation among the class about fear of the unknown. We sat in the dimly lit gallery surrounded by sarcophagi and other tomb equipment unearthed along the Nile, and other classmates chimed in with their honest reactions to the unfamiliarity of the experience. After several other students also expressed fear, one young lady allowed that she “sort of liked being scared.” I asked her if it felt “safe scary” and she nodded. The young man whose comment started the conversation smiled at her and nodded as well.

These students feel slightly scared by the unknown Egyptian galleries filled with mummies and other ancient artifacts. But they are attracted to the unknown. The unknown in a museum setting, like the unknown in movies, is “safe scary.” For them, what is interesting about this space at the Met is not the connections they can make to their school curriculum, or the comparison between the ancient and the contemporary, but the opportunity to exist temporarily and safely in a space outside of the safety and routine of the everyday.

2. Time Travel


“6th grade student, after discussing a sculpture of the historical Buddha: “So, is the Buddha like the Doctor? Doctor Who I mean.” Mind expanded.”

If you’ve never watched Doctor Who, close this browser and go watch some. The Doctor is an extravagant, brilliant, and charismatic alien who explores the universe trying to help the helpless, ease suffering, and generally leave things better than he found them. His ship, the TARDIS, can travel anywhere in space or time. Since he seems to like Great Britain, he comes to Earth a lot. Coincidentally, the show is produced by the BBC, so the Doctor is invariably British, as are his plucky human companions. The Doctor is a troubled hero, whose views on the universe are often transcendent as well as maddening.

On some level, the young lady who asked me if the Buddha was anything like the Doctor understood that the story of the Buddha, like the story of Doctor Who, is about creating an impossible narrative of characters who can save the world. On another hand, she may have been reaching for a way to connect historical information about the Buddha (i.e. he really existed, he was a prince, he traveled throughout India and Nepal, etc.) with the more incredible aspects of his story (i.e. his description of concepts like samsara and nirvana, his awakening or enlightenment, etc.) She seemed interested in the Buddha not as a representative of another culture but as a superhero, an embodiment of the type of figure that could save the world. In short, I think she saw a role model.

3. Love and Marriage


“2nd grade student this morning after hearing that Theseus ditches Ariadne after they escape from the Minotaur: “Well, maybe he was too young for marriage. I mean, you shouldn’t marry someone you just met. You should like, get to know each other first. But it was still mean of him.”

Like the Greek myths that inspired it, this discussion offered an interesting analysis of human behavior. After telling these students the myth of Theseus and Ariadne, I asked students what they thought of the story’s ending. The first flurry of responses focused on abandonment and notions of fairness; everyone agreed that Theseus made a bad choice. Well, nearly everyone. I pushed for dissent, and asked if anyone had another point of view. This young lady had been sitting silently for a while, and when she did speak it was with energy.

On some level she was trying to make Theseus’ decision to abandon Ariadne acceptable. On a deeper level, I wonder if this student, like the young lady who compared the Buddha to the Doctor, was thinking about role models. As you can see in the comments left by my Facebook friends, Disney’s ‘Frozen’ explores these ideas very effectively as well. Whether or not this student had seen the movie (and I suspect she had), it was a powerful reminder to me about making room for respectful dissent when interpreting works of art. Students really absorb the lessons that they learn from movies, so it makes good sense to keep tabs on what those lessons are – and what ambiguities they might offer.

So what patterns have I noticed about kids’ interests at the Met?

The Unknown

Many of these conversations involve discovering new frontiers, and the thrill and fear that accompany real, authentic exploration. As long as the fear of the new doesn’t overwhelm the group, it can be very productive if acknowledged. There’s a lot to be said about the transformative power of discomfort; just ask an oyster.

Role Models

Humans are social animals; we look to others for tips on how to behave. Many students are searching for role models, and some have found them in fictional characters. These young people are looking for ways to connect these characters and their worlds to the real world around them, and they will do so at the first opportunity.

Contemporary Connections

Museum educators often talk about contemporary connections: strategies or concepts that help visitors understand something unfamiliar by tying it to something personally familiar from today. When students initiate their own contemporary connections, they often do so in unpredictable ways that can be surprising, humorous, or subversive. There is something to be said for letting students make their own connections instead of doing it for them. Kids will bring pop culture with them into the museum regardless, so ignoring its power means missing opportunities for authentic discussion.

Keeping up-to-date on popular trends among young learners can really help make genuine connections that make complex ideas accessible. It can also highlight key misunderstandings about objects or the stories objects tell. For example, the idea that you should get to know your future partner well before committing is a very particular approach to marriage, presumably not one endorsed in most ancient societies.

Some Takeaways for Museum Educators

1. Listen. Really Listen.

Focus on what students are really saying when they respond to your questions, not just what you think they mean. This is hard. Use the words they use to define academic terms and abstract concepts. If a student’s comment strikes you as snarky or disruptive, lean in to it. Find out more. Let them know you’re interested in their thinking. Give them space to explain. If they don’t want to explain to you, consider asking them to turn and talk with some of their peers. Listen to what you hear, and think about how it connects to your own ideas about the content or lesson.

2. Let students drive the conversation.

My boss sometimes talks about how effective museum educators need to be a ‘Guide on the Side’ rather than a ‘Sage on the Stage,’ and this is vital to effective gallery teaching. Use a light touch to keep the conversation moving. Stay goal-oriented, but don’t get so attached to your goals that you lose sight of the importance of the process of discovery for your participants.

3. Ask for divergent thinking

Seek out dissenting ideas so that you are encouraging participants to think both deeply and individually. Some works of art open themselves up to a wide range of possible interpretations without ever committing to just one – examples might include many modern and contemporary art objects. Other works of art, like a Gupta period Buddhist sculpture or ancient Roman sarcophagi, have very specific meanings that their makers intended; there are incorrect understandings of some works of art, and that is important for us to acknowledge. Those misunderstandings are often great starting points for real inquiry if you can help students ground their misunderstandings in the visual elements of the artwork! Either way, seeking out divergent thinking empowers students to discover and craft the complexity of interpretation for themselves.

4. Reflective Practice needs others

I think the capacity to reflect in action (while doing something) and on action (after having done it) is an important part of professional practice. Both are hard to do, and both benefit greatly when other people can be sounding boards. I find these status updates help me slow down and think about the choices I’ve made. Better yet, doing so gives me immediate informal feedback.

Give it a try!

About the Author

BowlesDAVID BOWLES: Assistant Museum Educator for School Programs, Metropolitan Museum of Art.  David oversees the strategic planning, staff and volunteer training, program implementation, and evaluation of all aspects of guided K-12 school tours at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. In collaboration with colleagues, he also develops resources for educators, in particular for educators who are bringing students to the Museum on guided or self-guided visits. David also teaches across a range of audience areas, including K-12 educator programs and adult gallery talks. Before this, he worked at the Rubin Museum of Art as Manager of School Programs. He earned his M.S.Ed from Bank Street College and a B.A. with Honours from McGill University. David’s postings on this site are his own and don’t necessarily represent the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s positions, strategies, or opinions.


10 thoughts on “Status Update: Facebook as a Reflection Tool”

  1. Absolutely Brill post David,(there’s a book in this, Youbetcha!).
    when i was a littlen we went as a Primary school; group to the then ,Victorian Museum & State Public Library in the Great Hall then,1950s,there were huge floor to ceiling curtains, 50 Ft high , hiding , ?who was brave enough to sneek a peek behind the curtains ? well I was and saw Huge (Victorian era {ggl “Marvellous Melbourne”} glass cases FULL of Primates -Orangs, Gorillas, very VERY exciting . this engendered a life long love of OBJECTS, and museum description cards (Specimen collected by Chas Darwin, etc), this directly led me to a life long Fine Art career !950 -. this experience is probably unprecedented now because of other media …the quiet contemplation of objects (in glass cases ) , is a continuing as are Dioramas, i love the strange dichotomy between, painted backgrounds and real(sic) objects …lions etc….there may be a few of us out there , i suspect , -Night at the Museum movies. a really great post series , AND i like your Ethics in allowing unsorted ,unjudgemental posted comments..
    very well done indeed
    YMHS Ian

  2. I really like the ideas in this piece for a variety of reasons. First is the point that students are making meaning for themselves by connecting the unfamiliar to something known to them. On so many tours, there does not seem to be room for students to do that. Here, it opens the door wide open for the divergent thinking by acknowledging that we all approach the objects in museums from our own personal perspectives. These are core elements for constructivist thinking. Your reminders that we need to be actively listening – the “guide on the side” are also so key. We do not always have to be the heavy voice of authority. It’s important to remember and recognize that our visitors come with their own experiences and ideas that are valid and worthy in our settings, and as you point out, mean that we can learn from them as well. I love the idea of posting it on Facebook as a way to share – and I really love that you have created some boundaries for yourself about how and what you will post. I think that will make it a sustainable practice. I look forward to using this posting with my museum studies class, and as a reflective piece in my own work

    1. Thanks for sharing your feedback, Lynn! I agree; meaning-making in art museums is social, relative, and slippery at times. I’d love to hear how things go with your museum studies class.

  3. David – I want to take a moment to thank you for a profound post. I found it moving in the best way, finding myself in a different conceptual space than I occupied before I read the post!

    As a conservator in an art museum and historic home and studio, I frequently ask myself: Who am I preserving this collection of objects, documents and structures for? How can they use my work in their lives? How can I add value to their exploration of my work? Increasingly, the answer is that I am preserving these materials, for lack of a better term, for Explorers.

    The students who felt slightly scared by the unknown Egyptian galleries, attracted to the unknown are a great metaphor for most visitors to my museum and for most visitors interested in conservation. Only a handful are O’Keeffe or Modern Art scholars and enthusiasts. Providing them with opportunities to exist temporarily and safely in a space outside of the safety and routine of the everyday and explore new frontiers, with the thrill and fear that accompany real, authentic exploration is both FUN and fundamental to our success.

    Your “contemporary connections” discussion also rings true. As you describe so well, when all visitors, not only students, initiate their own contemporary connections, they often do so in unpredictable ways that can be surprising, humorous, or subversive. There is genuine engagement happening when visitors make there own connections. They may not be the connections we intended, but in so doing, they have laid the foundation for a mutually rewarding, long term relationship with the museum and our collections. It then becomes our relationship to grow or lose.

    To your Role Models discussion, truer words wore never spoken: Humans are social animals; we look to others for tips on how to behave. I’ve been in an extended discussion with the Met’s Neal Stimler (@NealStimler) about an experience I had several weeks ago at MOMA’s impressionists galleries. It was quite literally like Times Square, with selfies, videos, and multiple humorous and energetic exchanges performed in response to many of the paintings. Perhaps these were ways of engaging the paintings on that first, slightly unsettling level, dealing with those genuine fears and thrills that exploring the unknown typically engender.

    But it felt a bit like the xenophobic bullying that frequently accompanies interactions with the different and unfamiliar – whether unfamiliar students, cultures or settings. These folks were not going to allow much dialog or interaction beyond the ones they had assigned and made dominant in the space. I couldn’t look closely at a passage, consider the materiality of the work and wonder what the artist’s processes, compulsions or motivations might have been, let alone imagine what I might have tried in similar circumstances. I would have probably been bumped right into the painting. And wouldn’t that have been ironic!

    In this instance, the MOMA may have failed in the pursuit of their mission. In this space, with incredibly sophisticated and expensive environmental controls and security measures, carefully finished walls and controlled lighting, all beautifully designed for both the care and consideration of the real, authentic tangible product of the artists’ enterprise, the dominant interaction had become what one might more properly expect at an amusement park or comedy club: highly social, highly interactive but genuinely making the authentic museum work inaccessible to anyone seeking a different experience.

    While I am fundamentally in the camp of unmediated educational experiences in museums, I am left deeply troubled by what my camp has created in this instance! I would greatly appreciate your insights into what I suspect is a increasingly social and perhaps chaotic dominant culture within museum environments, to the exclusion of more individual sensory interactions with the authentic.

  4. Hi Dale,

    It’s great to hear that these ideas about reflection struck a chord with you too. You’re right; for the purposes of this blog post, I stuck to strategies for reflecting on visitor experiences that were facilitated by an educator. Self-mediated visits like the ones you describe are another thing altogether!

    It might be interesting for us to consider the tools that many museums develop for to help people slow down and reflect on their experiences (e.g. apps, printed family guides, audio guides, etc.), and how visible those resources really are for the casual visitor. For example, I recently visited the Rodin Museum in Philadelphia, and I was thrilled to see that the museum provided sharp pencils and limitless sketching paper in every single gallery, along with friendly signs encouraging visitors to stay awhile, make themselves comfortable, and draw.

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