So what the hell is MuseumHack? They call themselves a "renegade" tour company; they take visitors on unauthorized tours of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in NYC (and four other museums across the Nation - but The Met is the OG edition and MuseumHack Mothership). Their tagline?
Museums Are Fucking Awesome.
Seriously. I have an NPR-style tote bag with that emblazoned on it - it was our graduation gift.
The concept revolves around reverent irreverence. The guides on a MuseumHack tour are so enamored by the things they're talking about, so excited by just being in their presence, that they express that joy in raw and pure form.When something is fucking awesome, they don't say, "This is an amazingly impressive work of art and achievement of human cultural expression." They say, "Can't you see how fucking amazing this is!?" They let their joy express itself unvarnished.
I really need to stop using the goddamned passive voice to dodge this bullet.
We let our joy express itself unvarnished.
MuseumHack taught me to love the story I'm telling and to show that passion through how I tell the story. In essence, they teach one of the pinnacle versions of storytelling training.
|Who died and left this sign |
fucking boss? / CC John_from_CT
The whole goal of a MuseumHack experience is to get millennial audience engaged with cultural landscapes they've abandoned. The target is simple and clear: people my age who have been abandoned by museums as unreachable. The target is people my age who have had a negative experience (read: boring, didactic or authoritarian) in a museum and refuse to return. The target is people who were never welcomed the first time for who they were, and instead had needless demands placed on them to conform to established cultural norms.
So the first casualty of a MuseumHack-style experience are the established cultural norms. Ethan Angelica, our ringleader for Bootcamp and now a good friend, put it this way: "I drop an F-bomb in the first few sentences of my introduction. If they haven't stormed out then, I can say whatever the fuck I want."
The respect comes from the real love shown in the enthusiasm. Even the artists that you hate get a loving rib, not a spiteful one. Afterall, if you really hated them, you'd run right past their paintings to something else.
Yup. You run through the museum. You have permission to ignore art. In fact, you are actively encouraged to ignore art as you streak past it. The MET is too packed with art to see in a few hours, or even a few days. There's no way to absorb the entire story in one visit. Or a damned lifetime. So the MuseumHack ethic says, "don't even try." Kind like trying to understand 48 hours of combat between 100,000 men during a 3-hour tour-much?
Instead of trying to be complete, you sprint from piece of art to piece of art. The idea is to get tastes of this and that. It's the crack dealer offering up the first tasty hit. We know you're going to get hooked. To get reintroduced to a landscape that has rejected you before. You can understand the whole by trying out a part; you don't need to consume the whole pie to understand it's cherry, it's good and the crust is flaky.
And the language is vernacular. Boobs are boobs. Butts are butts. And it's OK to giggle at the enormous (or not so enormous) schlongs on Greek sculpture. When someone is fucking crazy, you call them fucking crazy. When someone's fucking brave, you call them fucking brave. When they fuck up?
You guessed it: they fucked up.
It's not only about swearing. In fact, good hacks don't have anything that off-color in them at all. But to me, the swearing is a symptom of something we rarely let come out in Civil War landscapes: pure, unadulterated love for our subjects. That real enthusiasm is contagious. But real enthusiasm isn't captured from prattling fact after fact. We so often try to show our love of a subject by demonstrating the depth of our knowledge. You think I don't love General Stick-Up-His-Butt? Let me prove to you how much I love him by spouting fact after fact about him, proving the endless hours of research I've put into him including, but not limited to, dissecting his final bowel movement.
Even when those avalanches of facts are meant earnestly, and I'm coming to believe they so often are, they aren't read as such. These walking encyclopedias aren't winning visitors over with their knowledge; oftentimes, data says, they're doing the exact opposite.
But if you bubble and froth in your visitors' native language you have a chance to infect them with their own found enthusiasm. And the native language of the majority of visitors is not the language of enfilade fire, right wheels or firing by file from the right. They speak regular old everyday english. And some of them - more than would admit it - stop wide-eyed and say, "Well, fuck!" when they encounter something truly impressive.
A MuseumHack experience is not the ONLY tour that should be available at the MET. But it's an important part of the offering. It aims for a particular audience and hits it squarely in the face. And the lessons offered can apply everywhere.
Does that mean go out on a battlefield and start dropping F-bombs like so-much canister from the mouth of Alonzo Cushing's cannon? Maybe yes. Gotta know your audience. The battlefield, like every facet of cultural heritage, belongs to everyone. And Cushing was a fucking hero.
So, yeah, when I've been out there with an audience that I think can take the truth? My friends? I've already called him a fucking hero standing right there at the Angle.
But more importantly, the MuseumHack ethic is a call-to-arms. The dogmas of the quiet past, the social mores of our cultural landscapes, might very well be inadequate for the stormy present. We might just need to change how we talk about these amazing place.
And if that's all too frightening, take a look at this video about scaring away the boogeymen who scare you: