Author: Brandi

I had fun playing around and reading all of the blogs in our homework this week, and getting to tell my husband that I was actually doing my homework playing with apps. Our first assignment about “But I want you to think,” was a nice piece to frame the whole discussion of using the Internet and multimedia projects as a fun way to learn. It showed that public history projects tow the line of what the user wants/needs, and what we think the information and services should be. The reading about the 7 apps enriching cultural tourism really reinforced this point, because it shows if you can create something that the user wants, you have their interest long enough for them to learn something (if that is your goal).

The only reading I found dissappointing, from my history background, was the “Haunts: Place, Play, and Trauma,”  because of the fact that they were encouraging made up stories of places. This only makes me uncomfortable because the audience should know whether or not they are reading fiction, even if in some ways history is as made-up as fiction. From a user stand-point and a creative writing background, I loved this idea. So the fact that I didn’t like it was because of the internal battle that ensued.

To end this discussion of balancing what the user wants/needs, I think we need to make it fun, no matter what. That is probably why entering games into the mix of learning history is so appealing: it’s not dull or dry at all. The video “Too late to Apologize” brought this home; it was fun to watch, and I can’t help but have taken away iconic images/information, like the prases from the Declaration of Independence. I will also never forget the violin solo, and the rockin’ forefathers.

One of the chapters that I enjoyed reading the most was Chapter 6 and its stab at trying to teach students how to read cultural landscapes, and how that can be compared to reading any historical document. Pierce Lewis writes, “landscape is a historic document that tells a story—actually, multiple stories—about the people who created the landscape and the cultural context in which that landscape was embedded.” Pierce also points out that there is no one single author in the landscape, and they are incomplete documents. This seems so obvious, but it takes someone like Pierce to point it out for all of us to have that “aha” moment. When thinking about how we can practice public history, I can see how looking to the built environment can help us retell a story, but that as scholars, we need to keep in mind the bias of the builder, and seek out other sources to tell the rest of the story. It’s just like any other historical research: be cognizant of your sources’ bias and beliefs, and be critical. The only difference is that some of our sources will be a different medium.

The rest of the readings helped to reinforce that as researchers we need to ask questions and be critical of our sources, and that if we can read the landscapes as objectively as possible, we can come to new and exciting conclusions about that place. The exciting part of this conclusion is that even in the simple and ordinary spaces, we can find profound reflections of ourselves, our community, and our region. In chapter 16 James Rojas explores how front yards are “exuberant vignettes of the individual owners’ lives.” I found this so interesting and poignant that I have started to pay special attention to everyone’s front yards on my walk to work/school in my new neighborhood. My yard, since we just bought the house, indicates that no one uses the space since it is in such disrepair. But my neighbors have nicely mowed lawns, and very few outdoor decorations or something that would indicate the personality of the residents. I hope as I look closer I might be able to come to know what my neighbors want the world to see. But more importantly, how am I going to plan my environment, and what will that say about me?

I found the readings interesting and engaging, and was able to curl up and actually enjoy them. This is often a feeling unobtainable from required readings, but nonetheless I enojoyed all of the readings. I appreciated that chapter 1 offered a few defintions of cultural landscapes, since I have often heard the term tossed around, but never paid attention. The defintion on page viii, that cultural landscapes are “complex sets of environments that support all human lives and all social groups,” seems especially applicable to public history since our definition for public history is that it is history done by, for, and of the public, who would of course be responsible for the cultural landscapes around them.

I found other aspects from the reading applicable to public history. On page 161, in the introduction to the section containing chapter 11, there was a brief discussion about writing with accessibility so as not to isolate “perspectives, disciplines, professions, discourses, and publics.” When I think of public history, this is integral for any interpretation. You do not need to “dummy” down history for the public to understand; you need to engage your audience in a way that speaks to them. Interest in history can often be inspired by places, so using J.B. Jackson’s questions about a new place: “How do places like this come to exist?” “How do they work?” and “What do they mean to us today?” I also think in any public history endeavors, especially in the academy, we need to keep in mind Jackson’s disappointment in the academicization of landscape studies; if we allow dull and dry interpretations to pervade into the public eye, then we will be successful in making public history unaccessible to its very consumers. We will ask the same question that Jackson did about landscape studies: “Why must public history be so dull, so lacking in insight and emotion?” (p75).