Sketching, Snapping, and Socializing: A Exploration of the Definition and Legitimacy of “Normal” Museum Activity
by Elizabeth Frost
I. Introduction
I conducted my first field visit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art on a sunny October afternoon. Perhaps a result of the good weather, both the museum and the surrounding area radiated with energy. School groups ran up the front steps in excited chatter, while inside the museum, patrons bantered while taking photos and eagerly pointed out exciting discoveries to those accompanying them. Overwhelmed by the abundance of activity, I paused in a small gallery in the medieval section to collect my thoughts and document my initial observations. While sitting on a bench located in the center of the room, I noticed that although a steady stream of patrons walked past the art in this section—an array of Italian sculptures and other decorative artworks from the 15th century—they never fully stopped. Instead, some visitors merely glanced at the pieces while walking through the passageway, others ignored the artwork completely. Despite the room’s heavy foot traffic, only one person lingered during my time in the space—a woman attempting to charge her phone at an outlet in the corner; she never looked at the art. I was puzzled: what was the purpose of visiting the MET, one of the most extensive public collections of art in the world, if not to look at the objects the museum contained?
Throughout my time conducting field research, I sought to explore and define the concept of “normal” museum activity, as well as the validity of each behavior as viewed by museums and visitors alike. I specifically focused on “stopping points” within the museum—areas, artworks or activities that caused visitors to pause for extended periods of time. Within this concept I focused on two particular themes: sketching and technology. I chose to investigate the former due to the pure intrigue the various sketchers in the museum invoked, while the latter concept felt unavoidable as a result of the overbearing presence the smartphone has in the modern museum experience. Within this research project, I viewed technology solely as visitor usage of smartphones and similar devices, as opposed to the incorporation of screens in museum exhibitions. I argue that “normal” museum activity extends far beyond what it is typically and traditionally convinced to be, with museums serving a wide range of purposes for a diverse population of visitors. Furthermore, the legitimacy of each activity is subjective, with museums policy often dictating the way in which space is utilized and behavior perceived.
II. Setting and Methods
a. Methodology
I visited the Met a total of 6 times over the course of two months, carrying out research on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday afternoons, as well as one Friday evening. I conducted fieldwork throughout the museum, however the majority of my observations were concentrated in the Roman and Greek Art galleries, the Carroll and Milton Petrie European Sculpture Court, the American Wing, and the 19th and Early 20th Century European Paintings and Sculpture galleries. I entered the space with relative ease, as the Met sees millions of visitors from across the world each year, and therefore there were not any cultural barriers to overcome. Although the majority of my ethnographic study was conducted through observation, I interviewed 14 sketchers and three students as well. I have used pseudonyms for all of the interviewees I mention in this report in the interest of protecting their privacy. Additionally, I utilized quotation marks for direct quotes and italics for paraphrased statements. In addition to my fieldwork, I also went to the Met twice and the Met Cloisters once for personal enjoyment during this time period. These visits, along with a tour of the Neue Galerie and an open house at the Guggenheim Museum, influenced my findings, particularly in regards to understanding my own museum activity.
b. “Normal” Museum Activity
One of the perches I frequented throughout my fieldwork is a marble bench located in the Charles Engelhard Court in the American Wing. The room is quite large—the ceilings stretch three stories high—and it mainly features large sculptural pieces and various seating options. One wall boasts a Neoclassical bank facade, while the rest of the gallery is encircled with a balcony that holds smaller objects, such as glassware and jewelry. Next to the floor-to-ceiling windows, which look out into Central Park, is the museum’s cafe, where patrons often stop to refuel and re-energize. After only a short time stationed on my bench, it was clear to see that the space served as an amalgamation of purposes. During my first visit, I wrote the following in my field notes:
For many, the Charles Engelhard Court is a point during the visit to rest, with patrons taking advantage of the numerous places to sit. At the cafe, the majority of visitors are focused solely on their meal or those accompanying them and do not engage with the rest of the room. One man had his head slumped on the table and appeared to be sleeping. Others conducted “photoshoots” in front of the bank facade and various pieces in the room, particularly antique street lamps. Many patrons scrolled on their deceives as they sat on the many chairs and benches scattered throughout the room, while others conducted long phone calls. A few visitors look at the art, often in addition to conducting other activities typical for the space. I found that my presence was not noticed; the variety of purposes the space serves means that there was not a single activity that was normalized, although most visitors seemed to be invested in their own interests regardless.
As documented in my notes above, throughout my initial fieldwork session I often unconsciously categorized visitor activity as being “normal” or “abnormal.” I was particularly negative in my descriptions of technology use in the museum, which I viewed as contradicting the traditional purposes of the institution. However, as I later reflected on these classifications, it became apparent that my grounds for the binary division was unsustained and often based on preconceived biases.
About halfway into my fieldwork, a friend and I spontaneously decided to visit the Met Cloisters, a museum we both were unfamiliar with. We did not know each other well prior to the excursion, so much of our time at the museum was spent engrossed in getting-to-know-each-other conversation, laced with frequent interruptions to discuss the artwork. Often the objects facilitated the opportunity for deeper discourse, such as the questions regarding personal religious beliefs prompted by a pause in the Pontaut Chapter House, while other galleries sparked shared intrigue—we spent at least ten minutes puzzling over Unicorn Tapestries, which left both of us in awe. At one point we stopped and sat on the wall encircling the gardens. Leaning against the pillars forming the gothic style arches, we enjoyed the quiet ambiance of the courtyard as we slowly unpacked unknown details about each other's lives. Our conversation became completely detached from the artwork around it, however it was the museum itself that facilitated such conversation in the first place.
As later I ruminated on this time spent in the Cloisters, I realized that my own “normal” museum behavior did not always adhere to the unsubstantiated definition I began my study with—one that consisted only of actions that involved directly looking at, thinking about, and discussing art without the intermediary of technology. This reflection, combined with further field work, showed that museums serve a much larger amalgamation of purposes than I initially understood, thus forcing me to reconsider the parameters of “normal” museum activity.
In the afternoons, the Leon Levy and Shelby White Court is bright, with the natural light streaming in from the glass ceiling highlighting the marble and bronze statues scattered throughout the room, creating a sense of grandiosity. Despite the constant stream of visitors that circulated the gallery, the atmosphere is typically tranquil, and conversations are held in hushed tones. While conducting fieldwork in space on October 24th, I noticed a wide range of activity that had varying levels of technology dependence. Multiple people in the room were on their phones or taking quick pictures of the artwork without pausing to enjoy it, while other visitors silently observed the various statues in the room or chatted with friends, no phone in sight. In the hallway adjoining this room to the main hall of the museum, I observed numerous activities over the course of my visits, ranging from tour groups to students taking notes and typing on their laptops to engagement photoshoots. These photoshoots, which I have witnessed on more than one occasion, typically involved a woman in a white dress and a man in a suit being told by a photographer with a large camera to “look candid” amongst the millennia-old statues, while an assistant trudged behind, exorbitant amounts of equipment weighing them down. It was clear that this section of the museum, much like the American Wing, served an amalgamation of purposes; this was something I found to be true for the majority of the museum. Consequently, “normal” visitor activity was not limited to simply looking at the art, but rather also included catching up with old friends, taking photos, conducting school projects, learning from a Met tour guide, and even engagement photoshoots.
Another presence in the Roman and Greek galleries, as well as numerous other sections in the museum, that particularly caught my eye was that of sketchers. Specifically, I became curious, wanting to know who these people were—where they were from, what their profession was, etc.––as well as their motivations for sketching. Consequently, I soon started conducting interviews.
c. Sketchers
On my second field visit to the MET, I spotted a sketcher in the corner of the Carroll and Milton Petrie European Sculpture Court sitting in one of the moveable chairs, folded in half over a small sketchbook that he drew in with a pencil. He wore all black, save for a purple hoodie under his jacket and white shoes, and had a receding hairline and a beard. The sketcher was positioned in front of Rodin’s The Burghers of Calais, a large bronze statue depicting six different figures; I initially assumed that this was the sculpture he was drawing. On either side of him other visitors took pictures. To his right, a woman took advantage of the soft glow of the setting sun by striking different poses as her boyfriend took a frenzy of photos, while a man on his left appeared to capture a picture of the sketcher himself. Despite the surrounding distractions, the man sketched diligently, save for the moments where he held his fingers close to his face, seemingly lost in contemplation.
I took advantage of one of these pauses and approached the sketcher. Right away, Franz, a cartoon artist, debunked my presumption that he was sketching the statue in front of him. Rather, he told me, he often comes to museums to draw his own ideas, as the museum setting helps him “get in the mood” to create art. During a later interview, another sketcher provided an effective analogy for this mindset, describing museums as serving the same purpose for artists as basketball courts do for basketball players. Franz shared that he first took up drawing 5 to 7 years ago—he couldn’t remember exactly how long—and started doing so at museums about two years afterwards. I asked if he often goes to the Met to sketch, to which Franz replied that it was actually his first time there; he was just visiting from Münich, Germany. In response, I shared that I actually speak German, in German, and he became curious about my own life. The mood of the conversation became progressively more familiar as we continued in a mix of German and English. With the stiffness of conversing with strangers slowly dissipating, Franz asked me if he could ask a question—how do people afford to live in New York? He shared that he would like to live here, but it isn’t feasible given the high cost of living, so he has to be content with just visiting. Later, I pass through one of the galleries on the second floor in the direction of the exit and look out onto the sculpture garden. Franz is still there, once again folded over his chair and diligently sketching.
Over the course of my fieldwork, I interviewed twelve more sketchers, each with a different background and purpose for being there. Some lived in the neighborhood and visited the Met regularly, others had traveled from other states or countries, often for the Met specifically. Furthermore, each sketcher had a varying degree of experience drawing in museums, as well as an individualistic reason there in the first place. Many of the students I talked to visited the Met as part of a school assignment for their art classes, although one sketcher told me he was “not an artist” and was only drawing as a requirement for a history project. The majority of older sketchers I interviewed were artists and drew in order to hone in on their craft, gain inspiration for another art medium, such as sculpting, or simply for their own enjoyment.
One sketcher I interviewed, Cindy, was not at the Met for any of the aforementioned reasons. The retired librarian sat directly on the sidewalk between 5th Avenue and the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s infamous steps, her legs outstretched in front of her as she painted the museum’s facade. Sitting on the sidewalk next to her, I asked if she painted professionally or as a hobby. Neither, Cindy told me. Painting is simply something I do really seriously. It is neither fun nor a hobby, nor something that I do professionally to support myself. However, I find it to be the most important thing in the world. Later in our conversation, Cindy pensive followed up, adding that she believes that she is addicted to art, similar to how people are addicted to running or yoga; she does art for the high. People often tell me to have fun when I am on my way to paint, Cindy told me. But this is ridiculous—I don’t think painting or sketching is fun, only rewarding.
For most people, including Cindy, sketching appeared to be a solitary activity, however this was not always the case. On multiple visits, I noticed elementary school groups equipped with sketchbooks and pencils, including a class of young girls in red plaid uniforms who quietly drew while seated around displays of horse armor. Other times, I saw artists in pairs, including Joe and Dan, two recent graduates of Queens College who casually chatted with each other while sketching a large statue of Hercules. In an interview, they shared that it was the first time either of them had sketched in the museum; they normally depicted landscapes, partially in Central Park, or other elements of the city. Dan added that he found the museum to be a unique space to sketch in, as it provides the opportunity to draw what is not typically seen in “normal” life, as well as an opportunity to learn from great artists of the past. The idea that museums provide subjects that greatly differ from others typically found in “real” or “normal” life was a common theme for many of the artists I talked to, particularly those stationed in the sculpture courts. In contrast to commuters in the subway or crowds in Central Park, the MET’s statues are sedentary, allowing artists to engage with a subject for an indefinite period of time.
d. Technology
Throughout my fieldwork, the heavy presence of technology in the museum experience was unavoidable. Device-based behavior included listening to music, taking phone calls, scrolling, texting, and perhaps most prominently, capturing pictures. While observing a sketcher positioned in front of Auguste Rodin’s Thinker, I watched as a rotation of visitors stepped in front of the artist to take photos, completely blocking her view in the process. Often, they barely glanced at the sculpture without the intermediary of a phone screen, focusing only on capturing the perfect picture. This behavior was common throughout the museum, with visitors constantly taking pictures of art—both in isolation and with themselves in the photo—even when it disturbed the experience of others.
On another visit, I sat in a row of movable chairs that are positioned in front of various paintings from the 19th and 20th centuries. There were two women also sitting in this area, one on either side of me, who both scrolled on their phones. Neither woman looked at the artwork the entire time I sat in the gallery. This was not an unusual occurrence; I often observed people glued to their phones while sitting on the many benches and chairs scattered throughout the museum. Additionally, visitors often talked on the phone or texted as they walked through the gallery, while other patrons utilized their phone to access the MET’s digital map to discover more information on the artwork they were looking at.
III. Linking the Study to Other Research
In 2018, responding to over a thousand complaints about “selfie tourism” activities, the de Young Museum in San Francisco created “photo-free” hours for their exhibition, which limited the ability to take photos to certain times of day. Judy Sweet, a patron of the museum, commented on the intense photography, asking “Why do you need photos of everything in the show? Are you even going to look at them?” (Francisco, 2018). Many of the young students I interviewed at the Met had similar questions, often fueled by anger regarding how “unaware” and “unengaged” other visitors were. A college freshman from New Jersey sitting on a bench in the Roman galleries told me that she had watched countless people take photos in the roughly 10 minutes she had been there. She offered explanations for this behavior, ranging from photos of famous objects serving as “trophies,” to memory preservation.
Roland Gérard Barthes, a French essayist and literary theorist, writes, “Every photograph is a certificate of presence,” (Barthes, 1981). By this logic, the notion that visitors would want to document their museum experience is logical. However, other rationale for constantly snapping photos throughout the MET, such as memory preservation, is more contentious, with a 2013 study conducted by Dr. Linda Henkel challenging this rationality completely. Through a series of experiments, Henkel examined the impact of taking photos of museum objects on visitors’ memory. In studies, participants went on a tour of a museum during which they were asked to observe certain objects and take photos of others. The next day, participants were asked to recollect details about the various objects covered during the tour. The experiments concluded that taking photos negatively impacted memory of the objects, suggesting a distinction between human memory and camera “memory” (Henkel, 2013). This quantitative data raises numerous questions about the visitor experience. Specifically, if taking photos requires less cognitive activity and results in a worsened understanding of exhibitions, is photography an objectively bad way to interact with artwork? Furthermore, are museums ever in a position to assert that one activity is better than another?
While conducting fieldwork in the 19th and Early 20th Century European Paintings and Sculpture galleries, I watched a teenage girl pose in front of Degas’s The Little Fourteen-Year-Old Dancer—a bronze statue of a ballerina with a pink tulle skirt—while her mother snapped photos. As the photoshoot progressed, the girl rested her arm on the statue's pestle, her hand subconsciously creeping towards the dancer’s legs. “Please don’t touch the artwork!” a security guard suddenly shouted, the photoshoot abruptly coming to an end. In their visitor guidelines, the Met asks visitors to refrain from touching museum objects in order to protect the art, a reason often cited in museum policies. Similarly, photo-taking has historically been banned in museums due to the harm flash photography poses to artworks. However, after the development of digital smartphones, and thus flash-free photography, this risk was alleviated. Thus, photo-taking became a routine part of the museum experience, particularly as social media grew in popularity.
In 2015, the Rijksmuseum, a renowned Dutch art museum in Amsterdam, noticed that social media had turned the museum visit into increasingly a “passive and superficial experience” (Wanshel, 2015). One Met visitor I talked to—a Columbia student who was studying a Greek statue for his Art Humanities class—reported similar observations. During his recent visits to the MET, the student had noticed that although some patrons are “aware” of the artwork, most others are not; this greatly frustrated him. Responding to this visitor behavior, the Rijksmuseum wrote in the announcement of their #Startdrawing campaign, which encouraged patrons to interact with the space by sketching rather than taking pictures, “Visitors are easily distracted and do not truly experience beauty, magic and wonder” (Wanshel, 2015). Per the recommendation of one of the sketchers I interviewed, during my last field visit I decided to try drawing in the Met myself. Nervous to sketch in front of the more professional artist doing the same, I choose The Little Fourteen-Year-Old Dancer—the Degas statue tucked away in the second floor galleries that I had seen a visitor attempt to touch a few weeks prior—as my subject. Initially I was hyper-aware of my surroundings, worried that fellow visitors would judge my subpar artistic skills, however I slowly became distracted by the soft lines of the pink tulle skirt and perfecting the sharp angle of the dancer’s raised chin. I found myself observing the statue with unprecedented understanding, and soon I was lost in a world composed solely of my notebook, myself, and the bronze ballerina in front of me.
Sketching has long been essential to the museum experience—the first public galleries were established in the eighteenth century, in large part due to the importance of copying original works in artistic education (Baldwin, 1997). The critical role of sketching in art education remains relevant today; 7 out of the 13 sketchers I interviewed were students, 3 of whom were at the Met specifically for class projects. One woman I spoke with was an art teacher at the Art Students League of New York, while many of the other sketchers were former art students, citing “improving technique” and “learning from masterpieces” as their reasons for sketching at the museum.
In a journal article published in The Art Book, Bridget Baldwin argues that the educational importance placed onto sketching in museums within the art community reflects a general consensus that, “personal communication with art is the most desirable activity in a gallery.” In a similar manner, by encouraging sketching over photography, the Rijksmuseum communicated which museum activities the institution valued more than others; sketching was seen as desirable, while phone usage was not. The photography regulation policies implemented by the de Young Museum, as well as the arguments presented by Henkel and Baldwin, seem to come to similar conclusions, namely that technology is a museum activity with less value than sketching. However, other museum policies present a blurrier narrative. A small, circular gallery in the MET’s American Wing is entirely dedicated to a painted panoramic view of the palace and gardens of Versailles, allowing visitors to feel as if they are standing in the grounds of the French chateau. The plaque for the artwork encourages visitors to listen to the Memory Palace Podcast Series episode that features art experts’ insights on the panorama, suggesting that technology usage is not only a permissible museum activity, but actually one that has the potential to improve the museum experience.
IV. Major Findings
Over the course of six field site visits at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, I observed visitor behavior through a mixed-methodology of observations and interviews, finding that “normal” museum activity extends far beyond actions that involve simply looking at artwork. At the Met in particular, visitors hang out with friends, take pictures, draw, take phone calls, study, and even hold engagement photoshoots. I specifically focused on two of these activities: sketching and technology. Sketchers at the Met are composed of a diverse group of backgrounds in terms of age, profession, and residency. Although sketchers have a wide range of motivations for drawing at the Met, education often plays a central role in this rationale. Technology usage included activities ranging from taking calls to scrolling to snapping photos, and there were numerous moments the presence of smartphones interacted with or impacted the presence of sketching.
Museums often shape what visitor activity is encouraged and, perhaps more importantly, discouraged. Typically, sketching, which is viewed as a means of truly connecting with artwork, is valued as a visitor behavior significantly more than technology usage, however there are examples of museums facilitating both activities. As technology continually develops, the range of purposes a museum can serve also expands. Thus, perhaps it is time that museums stop fighting the increasing presence of smartphones in museums, but rather use this technology to improve the visitor experience.
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