Museum Consultant, Part 2 . . .

Well, I have caught up in my career review to when I first started this blog in 2010, just after I finished my work at the University of Victoria. It was a prolific time for my writing, and I hesitate now to write over or revise those posts of how I worked during the year-and-a-bit I was focussed solely on being a consultant and a writer. I also want to make the experience of this post more than 'check out this link!' . . . it's a fine balance. I am hopeful though that through this post (and the entire blog, really) I am able to showcase that every step is one that pushes me a little bit more, to my next level. And so when I come to reviewing the work I did as a consultant in the early 2010s, it makes me proud to know that:

1. I was the volunteer coordinator for the 2010 BC Museums Association conference in Nanaimo. Collaborating with an amazing committee, I conceptualized the theme, initiated a call for session proposals, evaluated the submissions, set up the conference schedule, secured keynote speakers, finalized agreements, and then worked to make sure everything went swimmingly on-site. It was quite the undertaking but the results were immensely rewarding.

Ya, I even organized OWLS to come to the conference!

2. I won a contract to be the the tour coordinator for a 2-year travelling exhibition for the Royal BC Museum. I promoted the exhibition Aliens Among Us, which was about invasive species in the province. I set up a tour route, helped facilitate the contracts and ensured the shipping, installation and promotion was coordinated in a manner that worked both for the host venue and the RBCM. I organized curatorial visits to these areas as well. I was able to attend the first opening and saw just how cool it was to have the provincial museum represented in a community outside of the capital of Victoria.

Parksville Museum as host of Aliens

3. I worked with a small museum up-Island in Mill Bay to set up all their inventory and collections management policies and procedures. I lead five workshops that instructed volunteers how to inventory their collection, document it on a simple spreadsheet, organize their paperwork and photograph each object. I also created their collections management policy booklet and template forms. I was able to do this all a shoe-string budget, bringing foundational concepts forward to achieve organizational excellence, which in turn would help them build to their next level. (This project was the inspiration of my most popular blog post, An Inventory Project in a Small Museum - nearly 4,000 reads!)

An identification photo of an object in the
Mill Bay Historical Society collection

4. In working with a colleague who was the primary contractor, I contributed to the creation of updated policy manuals for a museum in North Vancouver. Specifically, my role was to review and update collections management documents and all their forms as well as their collections policy.

So I had a busy calendar! As I review my notebooks and see just how many projects and deadlines I had on the go, I am impressed with my multi-tasking capacities. It was an exciting time professionally, for sure, even if it was not super-lucrative for me at the time (uh-huh, I need to be honest in this career adventure story!). But the wealth of experience and people I met along the way proved invaluable. Learning to balance all the demands of multiple clients and all that goes with it - insurance, contracts, billing and of course delivering everything on time and (more than) what was expected - was formative experience that significantly contributed to my development as a museum professional. And would I do it again? Without a doubt . . . it could well be essential to my continued engagement within today's museum and collections sector. So yes, I remain open to work, eager to contribute - please drop me LinkedIn message or an email to BCMuseumRegistrar@gmail.com if you want to connect!

An Inventory Project in a Small Museum

Taking Stock . . .

Wow, April went quickly — and thus the lack of posts. But I am back now!

I have been busy wrapping up a project, guiding a small all-volunteer community museum through an inventory of their collection. It was a very interesting project for me, one where it was my aim to teach the volunteers collection management basics ('how to fish') as I did not simply step in to complete the inventory (or just 'give them fish'). It was my goal to pass along some of the foundations of museum collection stewardship. 

As I have written about before, I think small museums are the soul of what I do as a museum professional. Next-to-nothing budgets and volunteers being the norm, they represent a need for our communities to record their own story, and to have a museum to share that story. I understand that basic need as much as I know I must breathe.

So, with no trepidation, I divided the project into three phases: a documentation review (which was brief as they are a young organization), the gathering of inventory material and system set-up (creating a tool kit, designing forms, establishing a numbering system) and the actual physical inventory of the collection (delivered in five workshops). The first two phases went well, and quickly; it was the workshops that had the 'meat' of the project.

Working with about ten volunteers, the first workshop was a very wide and shallow review of all things collection management. I covered why it is important to inventory collections, went over some classic collection management resources, and spoke about museum ethics. We also reviewed a basic form that I designed on how to record the information of each object. Together we recorded the information on one object, going through the form step-by-step. I did my best not to overwhelm with information, which is quite easy given the breadth of material. I stressed that procedures were guidelines, and that each object would require a little bit of creative thought when inventorying. I said (and I hope this isn't blasphemous to some other museum professionals) that there is an art as well as a science to an inventory project, and that it is a process akin to eating an elephant just one bite at a time. We'll get there, but it will take time.

The other workshops built on the inventory guidelines from the first one, and I taught basic inventory photography, object numbering, and how to enter information into an Excel spreadsheet. (The volunteers wanted an electronic record of the inventory beyond pieces of paper. Due partially to limited funds, Excel was chosen as information can be easily migrated from this program, should they get sophisticated collection management software in the future.) There were many questions during the inventory process for, as we know, each object presents a new set of quandaries. But by the fifth workshop, we had a real feeling of teamwork, with each volunteer choosing a task to focus on; this inventory was now a project that the organization could handle. I have to say that I got a lot of satisfaction hearing that sentiment!

And so, at the end of my time working on the inventory project, I provided a report to the museum with the following:
- the documentation review 
- step-by-step inventory guidelines
- forms created for the inventory project which included
      - a donation form
      - a loan form
      - a donor documentation form
      - an inventory worksheet
- inventory project report and recommendations
- a list of resources and suppliers

I think there is still a lot of work to be done at this small museum for the inventory, but I think it is entirely doable. It is a little hard as a shepherd in this project to let go and hope for the best for their organization, but this is my role as museum consultant. And so I gather myself, knowing that they have the training and a plan in place to complete their inventory, to grow their collection, and that I empowered them to do so. Not bad, eh. : )

TMI ?

Connecting the dots . . . 

I have been on a journey for the past couple of weeks, perhaps foreshadowed by the TEDucation post just previous.

You see, I recently rediscovered my Twitter account, and observed / joined the slipstream of real-time conversation with museum people from all over the world. I have been caught in the undertow of the discussions, including the frightening happenings in Egypt right now. Some twitterers are able to assess the damage occurring to the Cairo Museum almost immediately, and it's both heart-wrenching and relieving to know what's going on. Truly, it's near hypnotic to be able to witness everything everywhere as it is happening, and to have a say about it through 140-character messages that are shared instantly with everyone. My brain has been so engaged in this — and I know it's getting to be too much because I have begun to dream in Twitter, which is kinda frustrating because the links don't work! 

To add to this compulsive Twitter watch, I have also really upped the museum-related blogs I follow. I have been engrossed in blogs that talk about museum architecture, collections, museums and smart phone apps, exhibition installations, visitor experience, evaluation, the definition of curator, museum 'free agents', neat ways to engage with collections and on and on. Museum people, there is a lot of good writing out there — so fabulous, it's hard to not want to read all about it. And comment on it, joining the conversation on blogs as well.

But here's where I come clean — obviously not just museums are in this social web-sphere. Although many blogs on my Google reader are museum-related, I have been caught up in the cat (penguin!) video world / silly silly stuff / amazing photo streams as well as, hello, Jezebel, for movie star updates.

Gah.

Do you remember what it was like when you continued researching for a term paper even when you kept coming across similar information? Sort of like you've done your foundations work, and you have found all the major trends, but you keep on looking anyway? And let yourself get sidetracked in fun and interesting stuff to 'reward' yourself for the good work you were doing? I sure did this . . . and I often couldn't stop researching because I was actually avoiding writing the darn paper. That's what I feel like right now — it's not like there's no more to discover, but I am reading certain fundamental points over and over again during my reading adventures. 

I have joked on Facebook that I have caught up with the internet. It's a procrastinator's dream out there, just a million tangential clicks away. This is surely where Too Much Information lives.

It's not all wasted time, though. I think all this online activity represents my desire for something more than basic information — I think I am looking for some kind of connection. Connecting online is really fast, simple, and as deep as it is wide. What a resource. But is it truly connecting with something or someone to follow them on Twitter, friend them on Facebook or RSS their blog??

These thoughts came clear when I went through this amazing slide show on businesses NOT needing a social media strategy. Twitter, Facebook, YouTube are all tools to link us together with information; they are not, however, The Connection That We Are Forming. We can have all these accounts, but they are supposed to augment our real life through engagement. Online is just another way to get that engagement.

And here's where I need to pay attention: social media accounts are not intended to stand alone, to be the end product, the last word. It's what I do with the information provided that counts, not that I know it. Action is required to make this connection real. Real world action.

I am keenly aware that I need to make the most out of the time and resources spent on this online investment, to pay attention, and to know when to stop surfin'. And it's okay to have a giggle — just not keep going to the feed to allow for major distraction. Set aside some time, but don't let it take over. That kind of thing.

The good news in this internet adventure is that I am finding is that this constant scanning of the horizon is actually helping me solidify my own ideas, and now I am 'tightening the weave' by linking things together, admiring the patterns that emerge.   

Another way I look at this online immersion is that it feels like I have been chopping a lot of wood. I have stacked a lot of it, real high.  And now it's time I commit to what kind of fire I am going to light . . . 

Life as a Museum Consultant

Starring . . .

Ah, it's the time of year to take stock, mark where I've been and where I want to go. It is cliché, but it is also very difficult for me to resist this exercise. So here it goes — a contemplation on working as a museum consultant, and how I hope to be in 2011.

I wrote a while ago about my career's evolution, and how I have felt as if I perhaps I was not living up to my potential. This was always rather heart-wrenching to me, of course. Thank goodness it was 2010 that I realized I had only one idea of what success looked like: it was a permanent job in one museum where I could serve and make a difference. 

I have not had that opportunity (do. not. say. that. sentence!) but have been blessed with many museum-based projects. This still has made me feel a little on the outside, as if I am not quite 'there' yet. I have always wanted more than that one project at a museum, and to be part of the team. I did my best to behave myself and be patient during these projects, making few waves, and working hard to deliver what was requested, hoping for approval. But the work would end. Over and over again, I was ultimately disappointed, because I kept thinking: WHO gets such short jobs like this and is happy about it?? The variety is good but . . . it's challenging, because I keep having to adapt to a new environment, get up to speed on the work 'culture', meet new people, form new bonds . . . then it's over. All wrapped up. What other professionals have to do this kind of variety of project-based work so much and so often and like it? And how on earth can one ever get ahead??
And then it occurred to me.

(Stop the sad violins!)

ACTORS live like this. 

And, heck, some even become stars. 

Actors work on plays, advertisements, television series, and movies. They take small roles in order to build a name - a 'brand' - and hope that people will recognize them for their craft, and to make a living. Some actors get to be known for their face, others their body of work, and yet others cuz they's a little bit crazy and interesting to watch. But I would bet most actors are into all these projects because they love what they get to do.

How does this relate to being a museum consultant? I have multiple experiences: made presentations and worked on conferences, given advice to local cultural groups, worked on long-term heritage site projects, and now I am participating in a limited though intense, fabulous project. And I am realizing that I, too, have a responsibility to build a brand: what do I want to be known for, in this work that I love so much? 

Suddenly this consultant role has pointed me to the fact that many museums and organizations hire me — Caroline Davies (Posynick) — as a cast member who has to bring a lot to the production or it could fail or, almost as scary, not be a hit. Working as a consultant, independent of an organization, gives the opportunity for me to be ME with all my passion; I need to be aware of but am not tied to bureaucracies that exist within museums. My mistake up to this point is that I have been a quiet version of my museum professional self, wanting to to blend in and not make waves, be part of this bureaucracy.* I know now that this is not how I will make a difference, with or without a desk in a museum, for "making it" in the museum world means owning an opinion and speaking up with a strong voice. Being a consultant gives me freedom to say what I think will work more easily, and, man, I need to be all over that opportunity as an ever-developing professional, for I want to be known as an open, energized, fearless museum advocate.

Therefore, in 2011, I am going to strive to make the most of this adventure as a museum consultant. I will embrace the opportunity to deliver my dialogue clearly and concisely, and to prepare well and perform even better when I get my time on the stage. I will of course follow the director's instruction and not (gasp) be a diva, but my motto for the year seems to be turning into "Go For It!" And so I shall.

All the best to you and yours in 2011. Let's drive the paparazzo crazy with our awesome work!

* Busted. I have been so guilty of being overly-cautious in my professional adventures — except for the one time at a collections development meeting where I noticed the curator was not present. I asked and found out he wasn't even invited. And so I said in a stage whisper, "Is this a coup??" 

Working for Small Museums

Heart & Soul . . .
I was lucky enough recently to sign another contract, this one with a small historical society that wants to conduct a complete inventory of their collection. The members of the society know the objects' stories, but they're not written down. They want these stories and all information associated with their collection recorded before it is lost, and so there is a sense of urgency to the project.


What I hope to be able to provide is a clear set of instructions, based on best practices, on how to physically inventory their collection. I will also create a set of collection management forms for the society that will guide in the tracking and development of the intellectual as well as the physical care of their collection. Additionally, I will set the society up with a foundation-building database that will help transfer their collection information online.


I am very excited about this project. I am aware of the trepidation that is associated with trying to figure out all the policies and procedures of collection care, and so I plan to guide the process in a way that is thorough yet intuitive. I truly believe that it is the small museums that hold the core of what museums are all about: although my heart often lies with the larger museums and the complex work they are able to do, I know my soul lives in the small, volunteer-run museums, with all the community stories that exist there.

First Day Thoughts

. . .

(I don't know what to write as a subtitle to this post . . . )

Last week was a BIG week for organizing everything - I registered my name as a sole proprietor (Caroline J. Posynick, Museum & Heritage Consultant), got my insurance issue worked out, received a business and a tax number, and set up a business bank account. And know what else? I also SIGNED MY FIRST CONTRACT ON THURSDAY!! Woo hoo! We ARE on our way.

So today was the first day that I began work on the project. This morning I went to my home office, got everything lined up and got going. I reviewed emails that I had saved for when I was going to have focussed time, and printed off many things that were sent to me. All was really groove-making until the tree cutters arrived to do some work in my neighbours yard. No problem - I just went off and found my ear plugs cuz I am at home and everything is right at my fingertips.

But I cannot lie - I also imagined what this first day would have been like if I had an on-site position, not project-based consultant work. I wondered what it would have been like to get set up with my computer, an email address, learn a new telephone number. Would the discussions with those who work there be awkward, or would we click? Would I remember the names of people - so many new people - or would I be overwhelmed and kinda flakey? How would my security photo look, anyway?? My photos like this are only ever glamourous or frightening; how did we score this time?  I thought about coffee breaks (did they have any? would I be invited to join them?), and wondered if I would bring lunch or try to buy lunch, and what would have been the more 'social' choice. I wondered if the day would go quickly or if my brain would overload or if I would miss the bus home (or did I park? just HOW MUCH did that cost me??). But I did not have to work through these details; this is not my experience.

This morning I came and sat at my desk in my home office. I got right into the work, including figuring out how to deal with the outside noise. I was able to hone in, become familiar with things rather quickly, check out the institution's website. I even pulled out my own resource books that I knew would have some info that would be helpful to the project (they were). It is a little surreal . . . almost zen-like in the methodology of it all. I think working from home is akin to home schooling, where you are able to do such amazing work in a concentrated time, with no distractions. But I think I am going to set up ways to socialize in a work way, to not get lonely as I will miss people and interaction.  I admit that I do wonder if I will do this for a long time, and what the future holds. But then again I always think like that, whether it be the first or the middle or the last of any adventure I take.  So what's with these elipses - and dashes?  Maybe it is nothing more than I am still computing my first day . . . 

Countdown 3-2-1

Might as well

Jump . . .

When I was a young pup, I jumped off a bridge because a friend did it. Actually, I even went first. We were backpacking through New Zealand and my buddy just loved the thought of bungy jumping at the very birthplace of the 'sport'... and I knew her so well that if I didn't jump too, she would tease me for the rest of our lives for not trying something so outrageously fun and exhilarating. So I did it, with the request that I go first. I was in a bit of tizzy with nerves so my friend supported me with a lot of positive reinforcement. Somehow someone wrapped a giant rubber band around my legs (protected by a towel, no less) and then directed me to a platform over a vast river in a canyon where they instructed me to relax (huh! my fingers are sweating right now just WRITING about this!) and look to the horizon and think about... flying. I didn't quite fly but that jump was one of the most incredible sensations ever... it was obviously falling, but there was something more... like freedom. And maybe just a little stupidity with the level of risk. But not one ounce of regret, because I knew I would always remember this moment, this moment when I took a leap of faith.*


The beginning of my adventure into museum and heritage consulting feels like standing on that platform. It is not easy to fathom - and there are many more steps than a rubber band and a couple of towels and listening to someone who is trained in talking you through the steps... or talking me into it. There is insurance (HUGE cost), registering my name as a sole proprietor, getting a business bank account and a tax account number and the list goes on. It's a big responsibility, and it is a jump in responsibility to do this on my own. Sure, I have had my business cards and my office set up for a few years but still.... it is odd to go here every day. It takes a lot of focus. And there's a lot of waiting.... I have two proposals moments away from becoming contracts but it is all so slow! Then what will life be like when they come through? Will I be working 24/7 ?? I don't know, but something tells me consulting will be a little bit of falling, a little bit of freedom. And it could just maybe feel like flying...

* That is me in the striped shirt on the platform on the Kawarau Bridge in Queenstown, New Zealand, on April 8, 1992. I jumped/fell/flew 143 feet (44 m). What a thrill! And, yes, I even 'got the t-shirt', which still makes me silly-grin. :D

One Career's Evolution

A Change of Heart...

This is the blog post I have been waiting to write. It has to do with how I see myself as a museum professional, and how my career has progressed at a rate that has challenged me and what I think 'should' be happening. With a slight change of perspective, I now realize, hey, this is the new way and it's so not bad at all. In fact, there is a lot of power and excitement here.

I have been saying one sentence that will be retired after I write this blog post. I have said it a lot over the past few years, to many different types of people in different circumstances. I see now that it puts something out into the Universe that I had not intended. But in order for us to move forward, I must state like Elton John and Candle in the Wind one last time:

I am "x" years old and I have never had a full-time, permanent museum job with benefits such as paid vacation, dental coverage, or a retirement plan. When will that happen? Why hasn't it happened yet??

This 'song' has set the stage for one of slight disappointment, as if I am not satisfied with my experiences. It is like I have been longing to be married, and I just can't find that special someone... and wonder, what am I doing wrong???

I have been looking at my career like a relationship. I had my first love of collection management work when I spoke to a volunteer coordinator who introduced me to the behind the scenes work of cataloguing a donation from a World War II veteran. I was certain, so young, that I was on to what I wanted to do with my career: I want to tell stories through objects, ensuring that I care for museum collections both physically and intellectually. I have been all about this ever since that first kiss of work, and that feeling has driven me more than money or status or anything else out there.

In graduate school, I continued my relationships with organizations and proving my love for collection management work. I had my flings through internships, including one with a sexy, older, sophisticated art museum. I was a little out of my league but ! damn ! what an experience and I do not regret the adventure. I also returned and interned in my home town, trying to recapture that first love feeling. It was okay, but circumstances dictated I be away from that city and so... this let me open myself up to a series of short affairs with a number of institutions. None quite fit, and none could commit due to economic constraints and circumstance. It was a bit painful for me, especially when I almost got one part-time position that worked fine. And then I had to move again.

Why was I being so fickle?? Shouldn't this be easy if I know what I want?

Then I took the bull by the horns. Once I settled into yet another town, I set my sights on what I wanted. I literally knocked on the door of a National Historic Site and said "You need me to inventory your collection." Cautiously they thought this over, underbidding my offer, but they agreed to 'date' temporarily and I accepted their terms. Well, I did an awesome job for this institution, and a four month contract turned into another, then 8 months contract, and on until I had been there over four years. I felt so committed, like I was moved in! The inventory was complete, the volunteers were happy and we even had a 'child' of an award-winning heritage conservation project. The problem? It was never intended to be a permanent position... we were never to marry, with benefits....and the work ended, and the relationship fizzled. And I was left with feeling "what have I done wrong?" Which, in fact, was not the right statement for the experiences I had there - but what I felt at the time was more akin to heartbreak.

It is hard out here to keep fulfilling that feeling of love for museum work, and finding a place to serve. Economic times are tight, and I am of a generation that has been waiting for well, everyone, to retire. (I will be talking about succession planning in a future post.) There are few jobs in institutions out there that are available... and when someone leaves, either the job is mothballed or there is fierce competition. (I once was one of 300 people who applied for a 6 month, entry-level position - three HUNDRED!). But what is out there is project-based work. Quite a bit of it, actually.

I see now that I have been wanting, desperately, for an institution to 'pick me' for this dance of a career. I have been so focussed on this fact of not being chosen that I have not stopped to notice that I have had some pretty amazing opportunities and projects. In future posts I will be addressing my current metaphor of how I see my career.... but for now, let's just say that this change of heart, this evolution, has opened me up to endless possibilities - how great is that? - for, you know, I am a museum consultant.