We’ve just launched Getty Voices, a new social media project on The Iris led by a different member of the Getty community every week.

Each Monday we’ll have a new voice and a new topic, kicking off with a post on The Iris and continuing with more conversation throughout the week on a newly launched Getty Twitter (@thegetty) and Facebook (/thegetty), led in weekly rotation by Getty staff.

As the voices change, so will the approaches. Sometimes we’ll take you behind the scenes with our work, other times we’ll mount a weeklong web exhibition, live-cover a symposium, or stage an online app festival. And the topics? Anything and everything relating to art, culture, and the Getty’s mission—seen from a creative angle. Every week we’ll include video and audio, and as we pick up speed we’ll build in online Q&As and Hangouts, too. Your input will help us guide the project as it evolves.

We’re looking forward to introducing you to these wonderful voices over the project’s first months:

• Claudia Cancino shares her Peru field notebook (see her post here and find more updates from Claudia on Twitter and Facebook)
• Annette Leddy takes us inside the mind of the forgotten surrealist
• Anne Woollett explores Vermeer
• Bryan Keene leads us on a journey through Renaissance gardens
• Murtha Baca, Anne Helmreich, and Susan Edwards tell us what’s happening in digital humanities
• The Villa Teen Apprentices dig into the ancient world & pop culture

To launch Getty Voices, we’ve redesigned The Iris as an online magazine with a clean, colorful look and a responsive design that’s easy to read on tablet and mobile. The magazine also features new, frequently updated content from outside the Getty, including videos and posts from other cultural institutions, journalists, and critics. (We’ll talk more about the decisions that went into redesign in a follow-up post.)

In planning Getty Voices we were deeply inspired by art experiments that are truly of the web, using technology as a creative medium to engage and inspire: the generosity of SmartHistory, the editorial intelligence of Walker Art Center, the radical inclusivity of SFMOMA’s Open Space, the personal warmth of the Met’s Connections (and now its beautifully immersive series 82nd & Fifth).

Being increasingly of the web, especially the social web, is one of our major goals at the Getty. Taking all our parts together (museum, conservation institute, grant-making foundation, research institute, art publisher, and store), we have over 20 social media spaces, with eight launched in 2012 alone. So why more? Because Getty Voices sets out to do something more: to define a new voice for the Getty in the digital world, as a collective conversation between you and all of us—educators and gardeners, conservators and librarians, curators and security officers, scientists and designers. So much of what we do happens behind the scenes, and this new project aims to use the power of the web to make the whole Getty more accessible and more participatory than ever before.

Voices is a new way of working for us, a social media project that’s social from the inside out. It’s been exciting, challenging, revelatory, and full of unknowns. It’s a chance to take a risk and try something new, and we hope you’ll come and join us.

Find Getty Voices

Getty Voices posts on The Iris:
Voices blog posts

Follow #GettyVoices on Twitter:
Follow @thegetty

Join us on Facebook:

Update + more fun with Vermeer—We’ve written the rest of the letter based on Beth’s opening line and made several the stars in a video valentine.

Woman in Blue Reading a Letter, about 1663–64, Johannes Vermeer. Oil on canvas, 18 5/16 x 15 3/8 in. (49.6 x 40.3 cm). Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam. On loan from the City of Amsterdam (A. van der Hoop Bequest)

The paintings of Johannes Vermeer are tantalizing and elusive. We want to know what his models—often young, beautiful women—are thinking and feeling, but we can never know. We can only imagine.

As a multimedia writer at the Museum, my job is to help visitors use imagination to connect with art. I travel between past and present, learning and sharing what’s known and what’s not known about artworks, artists, and subjects. Imagination erases the distance between “older” works of art and our 21st-century lives.

Vermeer painted several women reading letters, which are famously enigmatic. Next week we’re meeting one of them firsthand: Woman in Blue Reading a Letter from the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam arrives at the Getty Center on Saturday, February 16, for a six-week visit.

A young woman stands before a window. The light casts a glow across her face, and she looks enraptured. She grips the top of a letter with both hands, as if she has just eagerly unfolded it. Her eyes are downcast, her lips parted…In anticipation? Pleasure? Astonishment?

What is she reading? Detail of Woman in Blue Reading a Letter by Johannes Vermeer. Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam. On loan from the City of Amsterdam (A. van der Hoop Bequest)

The first question that comes to my mind is: What does this letter say? Is it a love letter? I imagine it is; there’s a strong tradition in Dutch 17th-century painting of using letters to hint at women’s secret yearnings. If so, who is sending her this intimate missive? A traveling husband? A secret lover? A man, or perhaps a woman? Is it a letter that, as she reads further, will bring joy or heartache? Or both?

As we eagerly await the young woman’s arrival, we’ve been actively imagining what this letter might say, and how it might begin.

What do you imagine the first line of this letter might say? In celebration of the painting and your creativity, I’ll take on the challenge to write the rest of the letter based on one of your suggestions, and publish it here on The Iris, with special thanks to you.

Let’s get started. Write the first line of this letter and I’ll do my best to continue the story!

Getty Voices presents first-person perspectives by members of the Getty community in weekly rotation. This week, Murtha Baca, head of the digital art history program at the Getty Research Institute, looks at the future of art history in collaboration with Getty colleagues Susan Edwards, Anne Helmreich, and Francesca Albrezzi; connect with them throughout the week on Facebook and Twitter, and be a guest at our Google+ Hangout on Air (now archived on YouTube here.)

In the digital age, is art history still relevant? How can a field founded on the close study of physical objects make use of digital tools? What exactly is the emerging field of “digital art history,” and why does it matter?

These are a few of the questions we’re tackling this week at a small, three-day lab that will bring together an international group of practitioners to discuss digital art history. We’ll be sharing our deliberations throughout the week on Getty Voices, and incorporating your voice through questions and observations shared with us on Facebook and Twitter (hashtag: #digitalhumanities).

With my colleagues Susan Edwards and Anne Helmreich, we’re kicking off the week with a Google+ Hangout on Air “Resuscitating Art History.”

The discussion is needed, and needed now. If art history is to remain relevant—if it is to survive and thrive as an academic discipline—we must learn how to use new tools and methods for conducting research and sharing knowledge.  Yet the field has been relatively slow to embrace digital technology, especially compared to the sciences and literary studies. The number of digital art history projects and reference sources, like ARTstor and  Grove Art Online, is on the rise, but there are still many obstacles to progress: lack of resources (human, technical, and financial), lack of institutional infrastructure, and the complexities of image rights, to name just a few.

Underlying these logistical obstacles, though, are two deeper barriers preventing digital technology from becoming an essential tool for research and publication in the field of art history. The first is psychological. I call it “Saint Augustine Syndrome”—the tradition of the scholar toiling in isolation, which has prevailed in our profession from the beginning. This paradigm simply will not work in the digital world, where collaboration and interdisciplinarity are crucial.

The lone scholar toils in beautiful isolation: Saint Augustine in His Study, 1502, Vittore Carpaccio. Tempera on panel, 56 in × 83 in. (141 cm × 210 cm). Scuola di San Giorgio degli Schiavoni, Venice

The second is organizational. In most art history academic departments and research centers, digital projects do not “count” as publications, and therefore don’t contribute significantly to a professor or researcher’s professional advancement. Why do something new—something that may involve experiment and risk, extensive time and collaboration, and the acquisition of new skills—if it won’t be recognized?

These are some of the issues that we’ll be discussing during our three days together. The group for this lab is small: about two dozen art historians, researchers, librarians, technologists, students, and others, with some Getty colleagues floating in and out. No talking heads or endless PowerPoint presentations here; rather, participants will briefly demonstrate projects, and the group will discuss challenges and real-life solutions in creating high-quality, sustainable digital projects in the field of art history. We’ll ask fundamental questions that are also practical ones: What is a digital publication, for example, and should digital publications be catalogued like books?

Discussions will also touch on major areas where art history and digital technology meet:

• Data Curation. Collecting and analyzing data is a key component of digital art history. How do we “curate” data in a meaningful way?
• Old vs. New. Is the marriage of art history and information technology a happy one? If not, how can we make it so?
• Digital Resources. What’s holding us back from creating more digital resources to study art?
• Big Data. How can “big data”—the compiling and analysis of vast data-sets to perform statistical analysis and other calculations—be harnessed to serve art history?
• Access. What barriers do we face in providing wider access to digital content, such as digitized images, in art history?

Our guides and respondents throughout the meeting will be Johanna Drucker, a leading figure in digital humanities, and Diane Zorich, author of the groundbreaking study Transitioning to a Digital World: Art History, its Research Centers, and Digital Scholarship. And I’m happy to report that my old friend Max Marmor, president of the Kress Foundation, which generously provided matching funds to support the workshop, will also be in attendance.

Art history matters because art matters. I believe that art is—or should be—relevant. A recurring theme in Proust’s Remembrance of Things Past (one of the greatest novels of the 20^th century, and one of the most important books in my life) is that art enhances every aspect of human life. It makes reality more “real,” more intense, more meaningful. Art can help us understand the present, and the past. Digital technology, when used thoughtfully in a close collaboration among scholars and technologists, holds the promise of making art, and art-historical knowledge, more broadly available and accessible than ever before. In short, it holds the promise of making our lives more real, intense, and meaningful.

I’m very much looking forward to exploring both philosophical questions and practical issues with the group of bright, innovative scholars and technologists—including established professionals and young participants who are at the beginning of their academic and professional lives—who will be meeting at the Getty this week. Stay tuned.

Update—Art historian and participant in this week’s Digital Art History Lab, Nuria Rodríguez Ortega shares a response to this post and offers a call to action to rethink art history and its new meaning in the digital landscape here.

Connect with more “Rethinking Art History” content from this week’s Getty Voices:

• Nuria Rodriguez Ortega responds to this post with a call to action.
• Francesca Albrezzi of the Getty Research Institute describes the challenges of Digital Mellini, the first of three projects for the Getty Scholars’ Workspace
• Five participants of the Digital Art History Lab held at the Getty Mar. 5-7, 2013 discuss what digital art history could be in Google Hangout form.

Continuing this week’s conversation on Getty Voices about rethinking art history, art historian Nuria Rodríguez Ortega (a participant in this week’s Digital Art History Lab) argues that we must reestablish digital art history on a new ground, both adapting the field to the new Web landscape and broadening its scope to include the full spectrum of human attempts to make meaning of art.

But is it art history? Google Image Search result for “Mona Lisa”

Murtha Baca’s lucid and engaging post on The Iris yesterday raises important questions about what digital art history is/can/should be, and why art history seems to be lagging behind the other disciplines that have embraced the broad field of study we’ve been calling “digital humanities” since the end of the 1990s.

Let’s take a glance back: In 2001, scholars Willard McCarty and Harold Short envisioned the field of digital humanities like this. As you can see, there isn’t a trace of art history in the diagram. In 2004, Geoffrey Rockwell revised it like so; art is present, but not art history proper. Willard and Harold’s revised diagram—which Willard kindly shared for this post, noting that it needs a fundamental rethink—shows art and art history floating on the far-right edge of the humanities.

Diagramming the methodological commons. Courtesy of Willard McCarty and Harald Short

In 2004, the book Companion to Digital Humanities, edited by Susan Schreibman, Ray Siemens, and John Unsworth, dedicated only a brief chapter to art history. And a review of the annual conferences held by the Alliance of Digital Humanities Organizations (ADHO)—which can be considered the leading international Digital Humanities conference—reveals that presentations related to specific issues of artistic culture and art history represent only a small fraction—and this includes the most recent conference, held in Hamburg in July 2012. Another interesting example: in Spain, an Association of Hispanic Digital Humanities (HDH), of which I am a member, was recently established. But the entire executive board is made up of linguists and philologists.

In short, the general impression of the digital humanities today is of a field dominated by projects dealing with literature, linguistics, philology, textual studies, and so on. We art historians are light years away from this—we aren’t even part of the discussion.

I would like to pose the following question to my fellow participants in the Digital Art History Lab taking place at the Getty this week: Is it possible that we are focusing on the wrong things? If we take a look back and try to reconstruct the history of the convergence of art history, artistic culture, and computer technology, independently of what has come to be known as the digital humanities, we find a rich trajectory of precedents, full of initiatives, projects, and experiments—perhaps with fewer theoretical developments and critical reflections, but replete with examples of projects that, using the most advanced technologies of the time, paved the way toward better access, analysis, and understanding of art and its manifestations.

The Getty has always been at the forefront of these developments. The Getty Information Institute (GII), which I had the privilege to know directly in 1998 when I was a graduate intern in the Getty Vocabulary Program, was a paradigmatic example of leadership and innovation in this field during the 1980s and 1990s; fortunately, its legacy lives on in the Getty Research Institute, which absorbed several of the GII programs and three key players (Murtha Baca, Patricia Harpring, and Joe Shubitowski) when that entity was dissolved in 1999.

Another key organization has been CHArt (Computers and the History of Art), founded in London in 1985. We are fortunate to have Anna Bentkowska-Kafel, one of the most active and influential members of CHArt, here at the Getty this week for the Digital Art History lab. From its very inception, CHArt has had an expanded vision of Digital Art History, including not only strictly academic art-historical projects or initiatives related to access to data, but also everything related to artistic practice and visual culture. I believe that this is the kind of broad vision that we should have if we want to “re-establish” digital art history at this moment in time.

And we must not forget museums. Museums are an integral part of the world of art—they construct narratives and historical discourses; providing access to art is their core mission. In the age of the Internet, museums have been able to make their collections known to untold numbers of virtual visitors whom they could never have reached before. As early as 1968, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, in collaboration with IBM, organized a conference entitled Computers and Their Potential Application in Museums. For decades, museums have been using digital technology—and increasingly, Web 2.0 and social media tools like Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and YouTube—to reach a vast number of virtual users.

I believe that the “lag” in art history in relation to the digital age only becomes evident when we compare it to what is going on in the broader field of digital humanities, but not when we think of it as a line of research and a practice that has been developing in a parallel and almost autonomous way since the 1980s. In other words, digital art history and what we call digital humanities have had independent histories; each one has developed in function of the interests and problems related to the specific conditions of each discipline. It is certain that, while art historians have only relatively recently begun to value quantitative analysis, lexical metrics, and computational linguistics tools, these kinds of tools have been used for decades in fields like linguistics and the social sciences. However, the creative and innovative uses that museums have been making of social media tools has yet to be extensively exploited in digital library resources that are primarily textual in nature.

Where am I going with all this?

In the first place, as I mentioned above, I believe that we are in the midst of a “re-establishment”—not the beginning—of digital art history, in which, obviously, we have to take into account the specifics of our time: the new knowledge economy, new technical tools, and the changes brought about by the evolution of the Web, which has become an enormous data warehouse waiting for us to analyze it.

In the second place, I think that digital art history, without losing its ties to the digital humanities, needs to establish itself in accordance with its own idiosyncrasies, basing itself on the preceding decades of research, analysis, and exploration, which should in no way be devalued in comparison with the digital humanities.

In the third place, I believe that it is crucial that we focus our attention on the specific epistemological and methodological problems of our discipline, and that we include not only academic art history but also museums, art publications, art criticism, artistic creation, the reception of works of art by the public, and so on, under the rubric of digital art history.

The barriers related to infrastructure (or the lack thereof), the conservative mentality of scholars, the rigidity of the traditional academic system, the sustainability (or lack thereof) of projects, the prevalence of “the Saint Augustine Syndrome”—to use Murtha Baca’s very appropriate metaphor—are shared by all of the disciplines of the digital humanities. My Spanish colleagues in the fields of literature, linguistics, and philosophy are dealing with the same issues and problems as I am as an art historian. And here is where we should join forces.

In 2005, Will Vaughan in Digital Art History, which can be considered the first book to critically approach the problem of the existence of digital art history, defined this field as “a new kind of intellectual fusion.” This notion, which I have cited innumerable times, took on a new dimension when I read the introduction to the recent book Digital Humanities by Anne Burdick, Johanna Drucker, Peter Lunenfeld, Todd Presner, and Jeffrey Schnapp (MIT Press, 2012), which is available as an open-access PDF as well as in print form. In this book, the authors posit the field of digital humanities as a new way to produce knowledge based on the use of new research methodologies derived from the potential of computational linguistics and digital media, in which interdisciplinarity and transdisciplinarity become the essential nucleus: computation, design, visualizations, visual culture, data processing, statistical analysis, geospatial tools—they all converge, breaking down conventional borders between the various disciplines. In fact, one of the challenges of digital art history should be to use these methodologies shared with other disciplines for its own epistemological benefit.

So how can a project distinguish itself as digital art history in a scenario where methods, technologies, visualizations, and platforms are shared among various disciplines? From my point of view, the key is in the objectives and intellectual paradigms at the heart of art historical research. And this is why I firmly believe that what I am calling the “re-establishment” of digital art history presents us with an overarching task: to paraphrase Donald Preziozi, we need to “rethink art history” all the way back to its conceptual foundations.

Were the ancient Greeks and Romans really so different from us? This week on Getty Voices, the Villa Teen Apprentices dish up an ordinary-folks view of classical civilization rich with saucy graffiti, voter fraud, crazy hairstyles, and bad relationship advice. Check them out as they take over the Getty’s Facebook and Twitter.

The Villa Teen Apprentices will see you now. Front row, left to right: Danielle Bui, McKenzie Givens, Jenny Lee, Jackie Ibragimov. Back row, left to right: Alexandra Cogbill, Mattias Rosenberg, Sara Rygiel, Sebastian Hart, Gaby Chitwood, Kate Hinrichs. (Not pictured: Kailyn Flowers, Pilar Marin.)

White walls, gorgeous bodies, and lots of fine, fine, heavy wine seem to characterize the modern-day perception of the ancient world. For generations, the picturesque marble ruins of Athens and Rome have captured imaginations—but the real ancient world of Greece and Rome was far from stoic perfection and boundless natural beauty. It was much more like our own: colorful, human, and messy.

Devoid of Twitter, Facebook, and YouTube, the ancient Greeks and Romans found other ways to share their opinions, spout random comments, and have public conversations in the commons. The social media of the ancient world were clay tablets, scrolls, popular books—and of course, walls. In fact, the ancient world was curiously abundant with graffiti.

Bar graffiti 1.0: writing on a wall of the thermopolium (tavern) of Asellina in the ruins of Pompeii. Photo: Amadalvarez, CC BY 3.0

The messages painted on the walls of Pompeii and other cities were sometimes akin to what we find on today’s classroom desks (“Aufidius was here,” “Marcus loves Spendusa”), but they were also quite Twitterlike, rich with pithy tales of love, politics, insults, advertisements, innuendo, and self-expression.

Here are some classic example from Pompeii, which, trapped in the amber of the ash and rock of Mt. Vesuvius, is ground zero for the study of the ancient social.

One-star Yelp review:
“The finances officer of the emperor Nero says this food is poison.”
House of Cuspius Pansa, Pompeii

Foursquare checkin w/ BFF:
“We two dear men, friends forever, were here. If you want to know our names, they are Gaius and Aulus.”
A bar in Pompeii

Facebook wall smackdown:
[Severus]: “Successus, a weaver, loves the innkeeper’s slave girl named Iris. She, however, does not love him. Still, he begs her to have pity on him. His rival wrote this. Goodbye.”
[Successus]: “Envious one, why do you get in the way? Submit to a handsomer man and one who is being treated very wrongly and good looking.”
[Severus]: “I have spoken. I have written all there is to say. You love Iris, but she does not love you.”
Bar of Prima, Pompeii

Craigslist ad:
“The city block of the Arrii Pollii in the possession of Gnaeus Alleius Nigidius Maius is available to rent from July 1st. There are shops on the first floor, upper stories, high-class rooms and a house. A person interested in renting this property should contact Primus, the slave of Gnaeus Alleius Nigidius Maius.”
House of Olii, Pompeii

Braggy tweet:
“If anyone does not believe in Venus, they should gaze at my girlfriend.”
House of Pindarius, Pompeii

These comments diverge sharply from what is expected from the illustrious civilizations of ancient Rome as they’re depicted in museums. Then again, much of what we see in museums comes from the graves of the wealthy—not an especially comprehensive selection. Regardless of era or region, most people are not wealthy, just ordinary folks whose greatest societal impact might be some writing on a wall. And this invisibility can be a good thing, because it grants them freedom. In Rome, while prominent members of society married to cement political alliances, those in the lower classes could marry for love, rendering necessary the same dating game familiar today.

Speaking of dating, how did the average Roman schlub get relationship and fashion advice before the printing press, TV, smartphones, and the Internet? It wasn’t as available as it is now, but Ovid’s Ars Amatoria and other works did subsist as acceptable substitutes, with recommendations to “take care that your breath is sweet, and don’t go about reeking like a billy-goat,” a true aspiration for all of us.

Here’s how to charm the ladies! Creep up on them naked while they’re peacefully sleeping. Wine Cup with a Satyr and a Nymph, attributed to Onesimos, Greek, 500–490 B.C Terracotta, 12 in. wide (with handles). The J. Paul Getty Museum, 86.AE.607

Here’s another perception about the ancient world that’s just not true: Greek and Roman women were meek and subservient. The abundance of female monsters in classical mythology alone suggests that men knew more about the wrath of women than they wrote in their history books. Even when forced into political marriages, women were able direct policy through their husbands. Livia, the wife of Augustus, spun and wove like a proper, dutiful wife, but wielded much influence over her husband, and was frequently sought as an adviser by many government officials. Though Augustus had three grandsons, it was Tiberius, Livia’s son from a former marriage, who became the next emperor, and she continued to have much power and influence during his reign.

What is known as classical antiquity spanned hundreds of centuries and comprised a mass of regions, classes, and individuals. Any generalization will have its exceptions and discrepancies. This week on Facebook and Twitter, we hope to reveal the ordinary side of the ancient world—the irony, politics, expectations, independence, social media, backstabbing, romance, and insolence.

Connect with more “Classics 2.0” content from this week’s Getty Voices:

• Jackie Ibragimov, teen history buff and ViTA, schools us in damnatio memoriae and how his ancient concept is relevant today
• Seduction in Ancient Rome. Thanks, Ovid!
• Physical Ideals of Beauty in antiquity. Is beauty timeless?
• Which Imperial Woman would you emulate? Looking at ancient sculpture and deciphering what style may say about identity.

Jim sits down with Snoo, Reddit’s alien mascot, to prep himself for the upcoming Q&A.

At keyboards, everybody! This Monday, Getty President and CEO Jim Cuno joins the Reddit community in an AMA (“Ask Me Anything”) session from 9:30 to 11:30 a.m.

What is a Reddit AMA, you ask? Well, it’s where the whole world converges on Reddit, known as the front page of the Internet, to ask questions of celebrities, politicians, musicians, innovators, business leaders, and other interesting people. Some of the best have included sessions with Microsoft honcho Bill Gates, scientist Neil deGrasse Tyson, comedian Louis C.K., and even president Barack Obama. (Obama’s was so popular that it crashed Reddit’s servers.)

Jim is up for pretty much any sane question—after all, Reddit’s AMAs are anything-goes—but he’s assured us that he can talk most intelligently about what he actually knows and thinks about every day: the arts, museums, the digital humanities, and what it’s like to lead one of the world’s biggest arts organizations. Of course, he’s also remarkably knowledgeable about lots of other things, including his favorite team, the Boston Red Sox. (The Iris, however, endorses the Dodgers.)

If you’re interested in asking Jim a question, his thread will be open for business starting Sunday, and Jim will be at keyboard Monday morning. In the meantime, you can check out Reddit’s AMA page to see who’s answering questions today!

Reddit thread can be found here!

Do museums need to change? If so, how do the people who work in them make that happen? This week on Getty Voices, a group of Getty colleagues immersed in different facets of arts technology, from design to education to conservation, considers how museums, and cultural heritage organizations more broadly, can innovate by working together and making change from the inside out. We want to hear from you—find us throughout the week on Twitter and Facebook.

This week is Museums and the Web, the annual conference by and for people who make digital media in museums. Over four days hundreds of us, including several of us from the Getty, will descend on Portland to debate strategy, talk nuts and bolts, and ponder the big questions about how museums can matter in the digital age.

The issue of how museums matter is especially pressing for those of us who work in technology. Many arts organizations are looking to web and social media to help close the relevance gap—the gulf between the “observation and reflection” model of traditional Western museums and people’s growing desire for active, social experiences in the arts. Social media in particular is effective at countering the perception of museums as stuffy and formal and bringing museums into dialogue with audiences and with each other. But social media can’t close the gap alone, even when the people who work in social have earned a seat at the decision-making table.

One way to tackle the relevance gap, it seems to me, is for museums to become relevant to each other. This is happening more and more through collaborations among museums and other nonprofits, including several innovative ones featured at this year’s conference. ArtBabble and ARTtube, for example, co-create and co-publish videos around shared goals. The Balboa Park Online Collaborative has enabled the museums of San Diego to digitize hundreds of thousands of objects and rebuild their websites from scratch. SFMOMA recently launched a digital-curation experiment, Story Board, that takes the entire web as its raw material. These projects are part of a cultural shift to make museums more open, more social, and more experimental through the power of digital collaboration. “Museums are pushing themselves to be more democratic and incorporate a greater multiplicity of voices than ever before,” in the words of Erica Gangsei and Andrew Delaney, the team of two that made Story Board happen.

“Pushing” is a good word, because collaboration can be scary and exasperating and challenging. It forces us to do things differently and generates friction. It’s also magical, because it leads to ideas we couldn’t have imagined by ourselves. You have one piece of an answer, or one piece of a question; I might have the other piece, and just not know it until we start talking. Nina Simon has been inspiring us toward this, and showing us how to do it, for years.

This week at Museums and the Web, our Getty team is eager to connect with others who are interested in making museums more social, more democratic, and more tolerant of risk by making themselves all of those things. Using Getty Voices, on Twitter and Facebook, we’ll explore we can act more socially and collaboratively across our institutions, as well as inside them. We’ll ponder how we take risks, develop a thick skin against failure, and share the lessons of that failure. We’ll explore how we can create failure-free zones for collaboration and new ideas to take root, whether in a gallery or over pizza and beer.

As a way to get started, we’ve decided to ask and answer a few core questions about innovation and doing good work. We’ll be talking about them throughout the week on the Museums and the Web blog, revising them as we go:

• Where do you get new ideas?
• When do you get your best work done?
• How do you deal with “failure”?

If you’d like to share an answer—or suggest a different question—please add your thoughts here. If you’re interested in museum tech and want to connect around these questions, please tweet us @thegetty.

To see all the tweets from the conference, which starts Thursday with pre-events on Tuesday and Wednesday (and pre-pre-events starting now), see the hastag #mw2013.

Thanks and apologies to Sarah Bailey Hogarty, Willa Koerner, and Kathryn Jaller for the title “the Social Museum,” which they originated at their MCN Presentation in fall 2012.

Today I walked around the Getty Center, looking to my left and to my right, tilting my head up and down. I looked for reflections, light play on the travertine, interesting shadows and geometric rigor.

On view in the West Pavilion, among many other things, is At the Window: The Photographer’s View. This exhibition looks at the window as a subject in photography since the camera’s invention. I thought I knew what I’d see—how much can be said or shown about such an ordinary object, the window? Or so I thought. For I felt the presence of each photographer standing next to me as I went through the show.

Through scale, color, composition, and form, I mentally traced the making of each image. I jumped at the almost life-size scale of Shizuka Yokomizo’s Strangers series. I paused at the transcendent timelessness of Uta Barth’s “…and of time…” diptych. I compared the frames of the Atget and the Sheeler and the Bayard and the Evans—windows in their own way—and jogged my memory for moments in my day-to-day where I could have made similar photographs.

Windows saturate our world, yet mostly go unnoticed. Houses, apartments, and office buildings have them. Cars, trams, and busses have them. We’re used to viewing our world through these glass things we see in our cars, in our homes, and on the street. Metaphorically, many other things are windows too—a computer screen, a camera lens, our own eyes. And none of these windows are neutral. They can reflect, distort, frame, and much more.

“The window is literally and figuratively linked to the photographic process itself,” writes curator Karen Hellman in the exhibition, so it seems natural that windows and photography often go hand in hand—not just among artists whose work hangs in the museum, but among all of us who feel drawn to capture what we see in our daily lives.

Windows are frames for pensive posers and house kitties, stage sets for shop displays, moments of architectural curiosity, and magic boxes of dancing light. As every window and every light and every person is different, so is every image.

To participate in this creative energy, respond to aesthetic moments from At the Window, and place historic images in dialogue with contemporary ones, we’ve been using Tumblr to reblog and share photographs that share a kinship with the exhibition.

From a light streak on my ceiling in the morning to the geometry of a glass office building, the exhibition, and the creativity of the Tumblr community, have been encouraging me to look at my own world with a careful eye. Throughout the run of the exhibition on we will be celebrating the act of looking closer via creative interpretations of that most ordinary and extraordinary thing, the window.

Are selfies simply 21^st-century self-portraits, or are they fundamentally different? In honor of #MuseumSelfie Day, we ask curator Arpad Kovacs and writer Alli Burness

Hanging out with The Getty’s new acquisition @thegetty #museumselfie #manet #TheGetty #museum pic.twitter.com/4g9gSrnHra

— Kate (@MissKateSwan) January 21, 2015

A selfie is a self-portrait taken with a smartphone. At least, that’s what I assumed until two weeks ago when I stumbled on an article in The Guardian about the Getty exhibition In Focus: Play. “You do see self-portraits,” curator Arpad Kovacs said of the show, “but they are self-portraits rather than selfies.”

Instantly curious, I asked him to elaborate on the difference (emphasis mine):

The self-portrait and the selfie are two separate, though at times overlapping, efforts at establishing and embellishing a definition of one’s self.

Qualities like medium specificity, deeply rooted histories, and traditions (or lack thereof) that define these efforts only superficially differentiate the two. What has greater weight is the selfie’s inherently replaceable and even disposable quality. If after taking a picture of oneself the results are unsatisfactory, it is easily forgotten and replaced by a new picture.

The self-portrait, whether it is a carefully composed study or created in haste, often contains more decisions than could be easily erased. Calling a self-portrait by Rembrandt a selfie is not only anachronistic, it also negates the carefully calculated set of decisions that created the rendering.

This does not mean that selfies cannot be self-portraits, or that selfies by nature require the opposite of calculated intent. An artist could choose to represent him or herself through selfies; however, self-portraits don’t immediately signify selfies.

Not a selfie: Rembrandt Laughing (detail), about 1628, Rembrandt Harmensz. van Rijn. Oil on copper, 8 3/4 x 6 3/4 in. The J. Paul Getty Museum, 2013.60

By this reasoning, ephemerality—not just medium or skill—is what makes a Rembrandt self-portrait fundamentally different from, say, a Rembrandt selfie. (If Rembrandt lived today, wouldn’t he be making both?) A portrait lasts, not because it is better than a selfie but because it is meant to.

For a second perspective, I turned to writer and theorist Alli Burness, founder of the Museum Selfies tumblr. She kindly turned the question into a thought-provoking post on her own blog, here.

Alli seconded the notion that technology is not the defining factor. “Both selfies and self-portraits are forms of self-representation using technology,” she pointed out. “Smartphones and cameras are types of technology, mirrors and painting are other types.” To her thinking, though, the key difference is not ephemerality, but context and interpretation (again, the bolding is mine):

Self-portraits are created to be read as art, are displayed in museums or galleries, and we are granted permission to view them as texts, functioning independently from the intent of the artist.

Selfies are borne of vernacular photography practices and are brought into museums and galleries by visitors. It is perilous to read selfies in the same way as art, to ignore the context of their social interaction and the intent of the selfie-taker.

It is important to remember these images are shared as part of a conversation, a series of contextual interactions and are connected to the selfie-maker in an intimate, embodied and felt way. We are allowed to leave these elements out of our reading of artist’s self-portraits.

Selfies are thus less like documents than like speech, snippets of embodied language. Agreeing, Arpad noted that “selfies promote active discussion and responses that can be instantaneous and—more importantly—in the form of a selfie.” Is this conversational intimacy one reason why looking at strangers’ self-portraits rarely feels uncomfortable, while looking at strangers’ selfies often does? He questioned, however, whether self-portraits are always art. “Many people in the past and present have created self-portraits for reasons other than the purpose of art,” he reflected. “Self-portraits cannot inherently be designated as art any more than doodles or markings on a page can.”

My take: The selfie is a mode of conversation, inherently contextual and often ephemeral. Selfies may also be self-portraits, and both may also be art.

What do you think: What defines a selfie? Is there a difference between a selfie and a self-portrait?

The Instagram challenge steps up a notch with a monarch in tights and a sexpot goddess

Show us your best #musepose! @the_toof_fairy becomes Maillol’s Air. #regram

A photo posted by The Getty (@thegetty) on Jan 25, 2015 at 2:34pm PST

It’s the second month of our #MusePose Instagram challenge, and we’ve loved seeing the creative poses you’ve struck! Check out a few favorites from January’s challenge at the bottom of this post. (And extra special thanks to Rodrigo Goncalves for being the first visitor of 2015 do the Maillol leg-lift.)

For February, we have two new featured objects, one stately and one sexy. To join the fun, snap a photo of yourself imitating art and show your stuff on Instagram with the hashtag #MusePose. We’ll be reposting our faves (after asking permission).

We’ve also loved seeing the creative ways you’ve riffed on #MusePose, finding Impressionist canvases and even illusionistic columns that beg to be interacted with.

Show Off Your Legs Like a King at the Getty Center

At the Getty Center (Instagram: @TheGetty), our second #MusePose pick is the portrait of Louis XIV from the workshop of Hyacinthe Rigaud, which hangs in the South Pavilion. Large in scale and splendor, this stately portrait shows King Louis XIV proudly exhibiting his dancing legs. His muscular calves and proud posture belie his age—Louis was over 60 years old when he posed for the portrait!

If you look carefully at the painting you’ll see several objects that highlight his royal stature, including the bejeweled sword, scepter, crown (on the ottoman), and throne (behind the king). His power-proving props are as strategically positioned as his body.

#MusePose Tip: If you look closely at Portrait of Louis XIV, you’ll see that the feet are precisely placed in a balletic pose. Be sure to position not only your feet, but your hips, shoulders, arms, and neck to reflect Louis XIV’s elegant alignment. We struck the pose last week, and after focusing for so long on our limbs we almost forgot to include the haughty facial expression! We’re excited to see you strike a similar pose this month.

Spin A Modest Seduction at the Getty Villa

Venus knew the key to seduction: leaving a bit to the imagination. The goddess of love and beauty coquettishly covers herself while looking away—but revealing her bosom—in the Mazarin Venus in Gallery 110 at the Getty Villa. What do you think: are we catching her in the act of dressing, or undressing? Try it yourself (fully clothed…), then share with the Getty Villa (Instagram: @GettyVilla).

This depiction of Venus was based on the Aphrodite of Knidos, one of the most popular Greek statues created by the sculptor Praxiteles in the 4th century B.C. This popularity inspired many imitations, often with slight variations. In this version, the dolphin at Venus’s feet supports her figure and alludes to her birth from the sea.

#MusePose Tip: Venus stands in slight contrapposto (counterpose), resting her weight on her left foot. Her shoulders lean forward slightly as she gazes to the left. She covers herself modestly with her left hand while holding her right hand at shoulder height. Follow our colleague Eric’s example and do your best to please the goddess!

_______

Thanks to everyone who posed in January for #MusePose! Here, just a few of our favorites.

@skdeezy @composerken @library_de_alexandria #musepose

A photo posted by Dominique Generaux (@domaux) on Jan 2, 2015 at 2:48pm PST

#nailedit #musepose

A photo posted by Gaoly Xiong Li (@zoogaolers) on Jan 9, 2015 at 9:48am PST

…and something a little bit different, because why not!

Side crow at The Getty #yoga #yogainartspaces #thegetty @thegetty #la #losangeles #museum

A photo posted by Teacher Of Great Artists (@kellymoncure) on Jan 26, 2015 at 5:45pm PST

Just in time for Valentine’s Day, we co-host a Twitter chat about the color red, from science to seduction

UPDATE: See highlights from the chat on the National Gallery of Art’s Storify.

Why is red the color of love? What is the hidden science of red paint? And what if a certain artist’s famous white roses were actually once pink?

Join us this Thursday, February 12, 10–11am PST (1–2pm ET, 6–7pm GMT) as we team up with the National Gallery of Art and noted writer Victoria Finlay to answer these questions and more in a live chat about the art and science of red. The chat is part of the Gallery’s #ArtAtoZ project, a yearlong social media exploration of 26 topics in art.

Join the conservation, pose a question, or just tune in live using the Twitter hashtag #SeeingRedChat. At keyboard during the hour will be:

• Barbara Berrie, head of scientific research at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC, and an expert on the paints and pigments of the Old Masters. Find her during the chat @ngadc.
• Nancy Turner, conservator at the J. Paul Getty Museum and a specialist in medieval and Renaissance manuscripts and the materials used to make them. Find her during the chat @thegetty.
• Victoria Finlay, writer and color expert whose latest book The Brilliant History of Color in Art offers an amazing tour through millennia of colorful paints, pigments, and potions. Find her during the chat (and all the time!) @victoriafinlay.

To pose a question for our experts, tweet with the hashtag #SeeingRedChat any time between now and the end of the chat (we’ll note your question and answer it during the hour). Follow the hashtag on Thursday, when you can chat live with Barbara, Nancy, and Victoria.

The National Gallery of Art will archive the tweets after the chat, and we’ll post a link here. See you on Thursday!

Fight with your friends and flex like a hero in this month’s Instagram challenge

Great way to spend the day @thegetty #musepose pic.twitter.com/5t390v3dZ9

— K Schwartz (@thosewhocan) February 21, 2015

For the third monthly installment of our #MusePose Instagram challenge, we’re raising the bar. You might have mastered the royal turnout of Louis XIV, or upped the modest sexiness of an undressing Venus, but can you also cause a scene or impersonate an over-life-size hero?

Bring it! We’re loving your creative energy AND physical strength. Keep sharing your #MusePose pics with @TheGetty and @GettyVilla on Instagram. We’ll be reposting our faves (after asking permission, of course).

Find the painting in the East Pavilion, Gallery E202

Friendly Fighting at the Getty Center

The Musicians’ Brawl is exactly what is sounds like. In this 17th-century French painting, street musicians use their instruments as weapons in a vicious yet humorous fight. A lemon squeeze to the eye seems like a pretty low blow, but carrying a knife around is also shady. What might have led all these musicians to fight? We can only guess. But you can reenact with your siblings, frenemies, or even random strangers! 

#MusePose Tip: Think about expression! Everybody’s face should be about the same level, so big reactions are key. Look at the empty-eyed smile of the rubbernecking musician on the right, and of course wince as if the acid of lemon is exploding in your eye (no lemons needed).

At the Getty Villa find the Lansdowne Herakles in Gallery 108

A Most Heroic Nonchalance at the Getty Villa

The Lansdowne Herakles stands in contrapposto (Italian for “counter pose”), a relaxed standing pose popular in classical statuary for lending dynamism and movement to the human figure. Here, Herakles (aka Hercules) relaxes after killing the ferocious Nemean Lion, the first of his heroic Twelve Labors that eventually earned him a seat among the gods on Mount Olympus. Dating to around A.D. 125, this Roman marble statue may have been based on an earlier 4th century B.C. bronze statue from the school of Polykleitos, who extolled mathematical principles for determining the physical proportions of the ideal male nude.

#MusePose Tip: To pose like the Lansdowne Herakles, shift your weight to your right hip, letting your left knee bend slightly. Gaze nonchalantly ever-so-slightly to your left, letting your eyes and mouth relax. In lieu of a lion skin, let a jacket or sweater dangle from your right hand. Pantomime holding a wooden club over your left shoulder. Muscle flexing optional!

____

Huge thanks to those who shared your #MusePose pics with us this last month. Here are a couple of our faves.

Thursday at @thegetty #musepose with my sister! pic.twitter.com/fJ4TRvUStN

— Gretchen Brugman (@TahoeGreta) February 26, 2015

#musepose @thegetty pic.twitter.com/jhZtNZsJfR

— Karen Prater (@karenprater) February 20, 2015

@thegetty #musepose pic.twitter.com/lQaebXJt4h

— gerard as rapunzel (@FeelBearMedia) February 27, 2015

Throw caution to the winds and strut, yawn, and glare your way through the galleries with #MusePose

Raven Santos and friend show how it’s done (courtesy raveninez on Instagram)

Posing like the art–the sillier the better–is a perfect art-nerd way to celebrate April Fool’s Day. It’s also fun every day, as the many awesome participants in our ongoing #MusePose challenge keep showing.

To participate, snap yourself in action and tag your photo #MusePose. At the Getty Center, share your photos with @thegetty on Instagram; at the Getty Villa, share with @gettyvilla.

Here are the objects you’ll find featured over the next few months on the visitor quick guides you pick up as you arrive. From mythological Greek sirens to an investigation of the ideal woman, there are plenty of options for your next #MusePose win!

(And PS: For more inspiration, check out more pose-like picks we’ve highlighted in the last few months: brawling musicians and a classical hero, a monarch in tights and a goddess with a wardrobe malfunction, and a leg-lifting woman and a mountain-climbing bear.)

At the Getty Center

Ideal female heads, sassy and demure

Man with a Hoe (April)
This man’s fatigued posture indicates that he’s been working hard. And so will you as you strive to exactly mimic his momentary rest. Find him in the West Pavilion, Gallery W203 (upstairs).

Self Portrait, Yawning (May)
Could you portray yourself mid-yawn, like artist Joseph Ducreux did? See if you can replicate his stretch, from eyes to knuckles to belly! Get the feeling in the West Pavilion, Gallery W102.

Ideal Female Heads (June)
Is there such a thing as an ideal female expression? Try one of these poses with an expression you think represents an ideal (or its opposite). Meet the ladies in the South Pavilion atrium.

At the Getty Villa

Security-officer-as-Orpheus with two docent-sirens

Poet as Orpheus with Two Sirens (April)
The seated poet and part-bird, part-woman sirens share expressive body language. With a friend, imitate their dramatic gestures and relationships. Approach with caution in Gallery 109.

Bust of Emperor Commodus (May)
Roman emperor Commodus was known for his ruthlessness. Replicate his haughty expression and unflinching gaze in Gallery 209.

Portrait of Faustina the Elder (June)
After her death, Faustina’s husband Antoninus Pius declared her divine. Exalt yourself to Gallery 207 to imitate her pose.

And last but not least: Find your own #MusePose candidate and share it with us! We’ll add it to our greatest-hits list.

The death event achieves immortality through audio, photos, and social media

Seven talks, a live Q&A, a comedy podcast, a music set, gallery tours, an Instagram scavenger hunt, and a wine reception with funeral-themed treats—this was yesterday’s Death Salon Getty Villa. And it was amazing. An entire day dedicated to exploring beliefs and practices surrounding death, burial, and remembrance in classical antiquity and 21st-century Los Angeles, the event was a thought-provoking (and often hilarious) collaboration between the dynamic team at L.A. organization Death Salon and curators and educators at our own Getty Villa.

As we promised to the many who attended—and to the many more who asked from afar—we’re happy to share our live-captures of the event:

• Audio recordings of all the day’s talks now on SoundCloud
• Social media goodies from the #DeathSalonGV stream up on Storify
• Event photos posted on Flickr

+ Don’t miss The Death Pod podcast over on their SoundCloud soon!

Four people with cool arts jobs reveal how they got where they are and share their best career advice

If you’re interested in working in the arts, you have lots of career options. From registrar to reference librarian, editor to educator, there are hundreds of unique jobs available in arts organizations. You just have to know where to look!

This year, on the Getty’s third annual Day of Service—our all-staff volunteer day—Getty staff members with particularly interesting jobs were invited to share their career paths with students at LAUSD’s John Liechty Middle School near downtown L.A. We asked them to tell us how they built the skills for the job, dish what they like about it, and give their best pieces of career advice.

Conservator—Sue Ann Chui

Conservators study and treat artworks to preserve them for the future.

How I got here: From an early age I was interested in both art and science, so when in my senior year of high school I discovered the field of conservation—which combines these two interests of mine—I knew this was a career I wanted to pursue. I eventually earned a master’s degree in art history and an advanced certificate in art conservation after having taken prerequisite courses in chemistry, art history, and studio art in college and beyond.

Why I love what I do: I get to study every painting very closely and thoroughly, and in the process get to know the artist on a very intimate level. I learn something new about the artist and his or her technique with every project, so I’m continually learning, and I find that immensely rewarding.

Superpowers I use on the job: Seeing the invisible. Using different analytical techniques such as UV light and x-rays, I can see what is normally invisible to the naked eye.

What I wish I knew starting out: Don’t be shy. Don’t be afraid to ask questions. What’s the worst answer you could get, “No”? The answer could be “Yes,” but you would never know unless you asked.

Best career advice I ever received: The straightest path is not always the best path.

Designer—Amanda Ramirez

Designers create spaces, graphics, and electronic and print publications.

How I got here: I studied both art history and design as an undergraduate. Although I loved both disciplines, I thought I’d have to choose between them. While looking for a summer internship, I saw an opportunity in an exhibition design department at an art museum. Even though I visited museums often, I’d never thought about designing galleries or exhibits as a “job.” That internship at the Smithsonian Institution became the first of many opportunities in museums that have prepared me for the position I have today, and a no-compromise career combining what I love.

Why I love what I do: Each day I’m able to balance the close study of art and design with the creative exercise and physical making that I crave. I love sharing interactions with and conversations about art with museum visitors, and in turn learning from visitors what makes experiences with art meaningful in their lives.

Superpowers I use on the job: The power to suspend belief and use my imagination is one I find more valuable each day.

What I wish I knew starting out: If you’re prepared to move to new places to pursue job opportunities, working your way into your dream job may be quicker.

Best career advice I ever received: Never take a job, take a challenge. Hope to learn at least half as much as you can already contribute.

Media Producer—Steve Saldivar

Media producers create stories using text, photographs, and videos.

How I got here: After graduating from UC Berkeley with a degree in journalism, I knew I wanted to continue to tell stories around the arts, particularly in Los Angeles where I was born. I was an arts writer for my college newspaper and fell in love with photography and videography as a graduate student. As a media producer at the Getty, I’m able to use all these different mediums to tell a story online.

Why I love what I do: Being a media producer allows me to express myself creatively. I love being able to produce stories that will make an emotional connection with someone else. Being able to make something that aims to make a difference keeps me busy. The Getty lets me do it every day.

Superpowers I use on the job: Call me Blue Ear, the superhero created by Marvel last year to encourage a boy who was deaf to use his hearing aid. There’s no better superpower to have than being a good listener. Being able to hear and empathize with colleagues is an important skill I continue to work on.

What I wish I knew starting out: Don’t wait for your turn. Take the initiative and start.

Best career advice I ever received: “Get closer.” Ken Light, my photojournalism professor, would channel his inner Robert Capa and say this to improve my photography. I got closer. My photography improved. I found this advice helpful in my future projects and in the work I do. The more personal I make it, the more I understand it, the closer I get. And the better my work becomes.

Security Manager—Tyrone Smith

Security managers keep visitors, staff, and buildings safe.

How I got here: Originally from Detroit, I joined the U.S. Marine Corps immediately after high school in 1988. A veteran of the first gulf war, I was based at Marine Corps Air Ground Combat Center in 29 Palms, California. We trained in jungles, deserts, and mountains from Panama to Oman.

That adaptability and versatility would serve me well after my discharge. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to be a firefighter or police officer after I left the Marines. In the interim, to earn a living, I got into the field of security–and never looked back. I’ve worked at commercial properties, medical properties, residential properties, and finally, cultural properties.

Why I love what I do: The Getty cultivates learning, sharing, and teaching. I like being a part of that. Emergency services in California are also incredibly diverse. From natural disasters to people needing guidance, it’s exciting because every day can be an adventure.

Superpowers I use on the job: Professor X from the The X-Men has superior mind control that enables him to know where everyone is, even when they’re out of visual range. Security is very similar, because you have to be aware of everything that’s going on when responding to emergencies.

What I wish I knew starting out: It’s OK to ask for help.

Best career advice I ever received: The Marine Corps motto, Semper fidelis, which means “always faithful.” Things will happen. Have faith in yourself.

Join L.A. Tourism’s #LAstory project for a chance to have your art featured at one of the summer’s biggest outdoor concert events

Photo of the Getty by @trevortraynor

See your artwork in lights! Saturdays Off the 405, our annual outdoor concert series featuring bands and DJs, is getting a one-night art show. For the second year in a row we’ve partnered with the Los Angeles Tourism & Convention Board on their #LAstory campaign, which encourages people to use social media to share their Los Angeles experiences. Select work will be digitally displayed at the Getty during one of the two Saturdays Off the 405 dates in July. (We’ll update this post when the date is finalized.) L.A. Tourism staff will choose submissions based on creativity, visual appeal, and the originality of their take on L.A.

Share an original photo, 2D artwork (painting or drawing), or up to 15-second video by posting it to Twitter or Instagram with the hashtag #LAstory or emailing it to lastory@discoverLA.com. In addition to the live projection, L.A. Tourism will share featured art (with credit, of course) every night on their Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter, which reach more than 1.2 million followers.

More than 100,000 photos have been tagged #LAstory over the last year, generating an amazing 15 million likes and comments. Show what L.A. means to you by adding your voice to the project!

Get your questions ready—Getty curators are standing by!

Curators from the Getty Museum and the Getty Research Institute will join their colleagues at nearly 1,000 institutions in 50 countries this Wednesday for the sixth annual #AskACurator Day on Twitter.

What are the most unusual artworks in the collections? How do curators come up with ideas for exhibitions? How do you get started in a curatorial career? We’d love to hear your burning art questions—and offbeat topics are decidedly welcome!

Join the Conversation

How to participate in #AskACurator? Easy!

1. Tweet your question with the hashtag #AskACurator. Ask the world’s curators anything! To direct your question to a curator at the Getty Museum or Getty Research Institute specifically, also include @GettyMuseum in your tweet.
2. Not on Twitter? Leave a comment on the Facebook page of the Getty Museum or the Getty Research Institute.

For more #AskACurator fun, see the full list of participating museums here.

Meet Our Curators

Our curators will be available to answer your questions throughout the day (times listed are in Pacific Daylight Time):

8:00–8:30 am—Marcia Reed, Getty Research Institute

Knows all about: Rare books, prints, contemporary artists books, China trade

Currently fascinated with: Upcoming exhibition The Edible Monument: The Art of Food for Festivals

8:45–9:15 am—Elizabeth Morrison, Getty Museum, Manuscripts

Knows all about: Medieval manuscripts, especially French and Flemish

Currently fascinated with: Bestiaries, a type of medieval book about animals

9:30–10:00 am—Arpad Kovacs, Getty Museum, Photographs

Knows all about: 20th-century American photography and contemporary photography

Currently fascinated with: Photography from Central Europe and photography’s relationship with conceptual art

10:15–10:45 am—Isotta Poggi, Getty Research Institute

Knows all about: Getty Research Institute photography collections on archaeology, colonial Africa, optical devices

Currently fascinated with: The Hungarian uprising and cold war photography

11:45 am–12:15 pm—Scott Allan, Getty Museum, Paintings

Knows all about: 19th-century French painting, from Millet to Monet, Gérôme to Gauguin

Currently fascinated with: Théodore Rousseau and James Ensor

12:30–1:00 pm—Julian Brooks, Getty Museum, Drawings

Knows all about: Italian Renaissance drawings; British watercolors

Currently fascinated with: Renaissance studio techniques; Andrea del Sarto; J.M.W. Turner; the effects of coffee and chocolate on the art-historical brain

1:30–2:00 pm—Jeffrey Spier, Getty Museum, Antiquities

Knows all about: Greek art and iconography, numismatics, gems and jewelry, early Christian and Byzantine art, and the history of collecting

2:00–2:30 pm—Jeffrey Weaver, Getty Museum, Sculpture and Decorative Arts

Knows all about: European ceramics and glass of the early modern period

Currently fascinated with: Early French porcelain

From Homer to Hobbits, your awesome suggestions for museums based on fictional worlds

Alice in Wonderland Museum? Darth Vader Gallery? (Alice by John Tenniel on Wikimedia Commons; Darth Vader by gtartwork, CC BY 3.0 on DeviantArt)

Nobel Prize-winning author Orhan Pamuk spoke at the Getty Center as part of our Art of Writing series this month. While the auditorium was full and the audience rapt, there was an exciting parallel conversation over on Twitter.

We recently published a post about Pamuk’s Museum of Innocence in Istanbul, an unusual institution dedicated to the artifacts of a character from his 2008 book, also called The Museum of Innocence, named Kemal Basmaci. Pamuk’s museum for the fictional Kemal contains everyday items like cigarette butts, family photos, coins, and knick-knacks that the author spent years gathering as he envisioned and created his character.

So on Twitter, we asked you this question: If you were to create a museum inspired by a novel or a fictional character, what would it be?

And so many of you responded. For hours! Here’s a sample of the books or characters nominated on Twitter for their own museum, and our (silly) guesses at what artifacts might be on display:

• A Darth Vader museum—The sound of breathing would greet you in the lobby
• A Clockwork Orange—A soundtrack of Beethoven’s 9th playing throughout the galleries
• The Great Gatsby—Lavish dinnerware, silk gloves, Champagne bottles, jazz
• To Kill a Mockingbird—Boo Radley’s front porch
• Winnie-the-Pooh—Jars of honey, obviously
• Brave New World—Bottles of soma
• Lord of the Rings—Elf shoes, hobbit pants, and of course, in a very guarded vitrine: the one true RING
• The Picture of Dorian Gray—Rooms overstuffed with rare books, exotic perfumes, jewels, and art objects. In an attic room, a hideous painting
• Moby Dick—Scrimshaw, harpoons, doubloons; the museum would, of course, be on a boat
• Pride and Prejudice—Letters, sealing wax, hair ribbons, tea sets, embroidery, a harpsichord, tears

Other authors and characters suggested on Twitter included Italo Calvino, Homer, Alice Walker, Harry Potter, Alice in Wonderland, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Thomas Pynchon, David Mitchell, Harriet Ann Jacobs, Jose Luis Borges, Roald Dahl, Mary Shelley, and many more.

Add your suggestion: What book would you like to see become a museum?

Talking to writer and artist Matt Allard about where he finds inspiration 

Matt Allard. All photos in this post courtesy of and © Matthew Allard

Matt Allard, commonly known to his more than 88,000 Instagram followers as @lifeserial, shares surreal postcards from Tulum, snippets of his daily life including an adorable pup named Ninja, and tons of strategically placed foliage pics that make us wish we had secret gardens or green thumbs or both.

One of Matt’s latest projects led him to the Getty Center for a day of #GettyInspired shooting with a very beautiful and very talented group of L.A. dancers. And although he’s pretty busy these days, I was able to catch him on the fly for a quick Q&A about what it means to be a successful writer and photographer in this digital age we live in.

Tell me about your day-to-day as an artist.

My day-to-day can be hard to pin down. I’m fortunate to work freelance and have the freedom to sort of spontaneously be doing one thing or another. I didn’t do much writing last year so it was a luxury to be able spend that time creating pictures instead. I always want to be making something, anything. I’m slowly starting to work on a writing project again, so that will involve going off and being in my own world a little bit more. I’ll certainly continue to make pictures when the right opportunities arise.

And the #camerasanddancers meetup at the Getty… Those pics are incredible!

This was my second time collaborating with dancers from Jacob Jonas The Company, and I think the more we get together the more relaxed it becomes. This last meeting was a fun day of creative improvisation, nothing too structured or planned, just playing without any expectation. I tend to think the best things evolve out of those circumstances.

You travel, take beautiful pictures, and have a colorful social media personality. How does this tie in with your art and writing?

I think all of these things go hand in hand. When I started out writing fiction, a lot of what I wrote was inspired by imagery. I still kind of operate this way. You can do anything in writing and that limitlessness is daunting; for me, describing only what I can see in an image or an illustration is a great launchpad to build out from. I am an imagery-heavy writer and I’m most drawn to prose that paints a picture.

Every day—especially when traveling and out of your element or norm—is an opportunity to learn or experience something new. Obviously, the more experiences you have, the more you have to draw from creatively.

It’s very different making it as a writer today than 20, or even 10, years ago. Do you think there’s a point where too much technology is harmful for a writer (and his/her reader)?

Social media is super helpful for connection today, and I know I wouldn’t have had half of the opportunities I’ve had if it weren’t for social media and the creative community there. So I’m grateful for that. As with everything, though, I think balance is key. I think we could all benefit from a little more time spent logged off.

Tips for millennial writers, or writers in general?

I guess I would just say try to make things for yourself first and foremost, and enjoy the process. Social media has created this necessity for (instant) gratification and has us living off “likes” and “favorites” and cartoon hearts for validation. Try, try, try to let that go. It’s not real.

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Eight reasons to take a selfie in museums—from the silly to the profound

#MuseumSelfie Day is January 20 each year. This social media funday is intended to encourage people to visit museums and participate with art or collections. In honor of the day we’ve rounded up a few museum selfies and asked their makers a simple question: Why’d you take that selfie? (Oh, and we’re counting these as “selfies” even if someone else was holding the phone. Sorry, New York Times.)

From Miami to L.A., here’s what we heard.

1. To Look Smart

“I feel like museum selfies scream, ‘Hey, look at me! I’m cultured and fun.’ I actually visited the Met on this particular occasion (summer 2013) for the PUNK: Chaos to Couture exhibition. Once I saw everything I’d wanted to see, I wandered the museum a bit and came across this gallery of Greek and Roman marble heads. My friend is Greek and she took the photo. She wanted a portrait of me with her ‘ancestors.’”

Allison Ramirez (that’s me!)
Photo taken at the Metropolitan Museum of Art

2. To Remember Where You’ve Been

“I take selfies to remind myself that I was there — that I was at that place on that day. My selfies reference me in a way that is subtle, at least to me. I take lots of pictures of family and friends (I’m known to be the guy with a camera). But because I typically have a camera in hand, I’m taking pictures but am not in them. I like this. Truthfully, selfies sometime convey a loneliness to me. I think that’s because I take most selfies when I’m by myself and not with friends or family.”

Jack Ludden
Photo taken at the Fogg Museum, Harvard

3. To Be Part of the Art

“I take museum selfies because I gravitate toward interactive art, and when you document practically everything else you do, of course you’re going to document ‘doing’ a work of art.”

Ashley Wilson
Photo taken at the Brooklyn Museum

4. To Hang with the Celebs

“When I take selfies at museums, I normally just want to have pictures of me and famous artworks!”

Lucy Lu
Photo taken at the Louisiana Museum of Modern Art, Copenhagen

5. To Touch the Past

“Walking into Jane Addams’ former bedroom, I was drawn to this wallpaper. I could imagine Jane lying awake at night, wrestling with the struggles of the day, staring at this wallpaper wishing to fall asleep. And — bonus! — for years its design was attributed to William Morris, but in fact it was designed by his youngest daughter, May. #YayLadies.”

Sarah Waldorf
Taken at the Jane Addams Hull House Museum, Chicago

6. For the FOMO

“I suppose I think that museum selfies are kind of silly. It’s just a way to feel closer to the art, like you’re part of the piece. Or even a way to let people know that I like this and I was there — for the FOMO, basically.”

Felicia Tsiokos
Photo taken at the Metropolitan Museum of Art

7. To Connect with Someone You Care About

“I usually avoid being in photos, and my rare selfies always include someone I care about. The riot of brightly colored skulls in this Takashi Murakami painting at The Broad totally spoke to me, reminding me of my own mortality and making me feel especially grateful for my partner. Weirdly, I suddenly felt very happy and wanted to take a selfie.”

Annelisa Stephan
Photo taken at The Broad, Los Angeles

8. To Make Mom Proud

“My mom immigrated to the U.S. from Cuba as a little girl in the ‘60s and has never been back. Luckily, she was able to come to the States with her parents, but this exhibition—called Operation Pedro Pan: The Cuban Children’s Exodus—specifically highlights a group of children who emigrated from Cuba without their families. Visiting this exhibit was an attempt to better understand my heritage, and taking this selfie a way to commemorate my cultural history.”

Derek Ramirez
Photo taken at HistoryMiami, Miami

Do you take selfies in museums? If so, what do they mean to you?