Author: lim2025

Christian Greco’s visit to NYUAD was one that I didn’t know we needed. How do museums impact society and the future when they reminisce about the past? Truly, I had heard the phrase, “Those who do not know their past, are condemned to live it,” but I didn’t understand the practicality of this connection until Greco’s talk, which proved that museums can help us build a better future by critically engaging with the past. But, what if, the future they talk about when having conversations about museums, is the present that we have today?

The last time I visited a museum was last semester, Fall 2021, when I joined a student group visiting the Louvre Abu Dhabi. Not having many museums back at home, I grew up without a fed interest in museums and their importance for society, so I was curious to see what the Louvre had to offer my intellectual curiosity. As I was reading the tags in each object, I found myself looking for one that said that the object belonged to “Venezuela” or, at the very least, somewhere nearby. The closest I found was Peru and Mexico, and I started to question what deemed these places’ objects worthy of preservation. Moreover, a question was raised within the group: does this museum have the right to own objects from other countries? Why aren’t these objects in their so proudly-shown “origin”?  

Rumors of having stolen these objects during, around, and even after colonial times were the predominant answer as to how museums usually get objects from other countries: a different way of showing power dynamics and oppression. Although Greco didn’t talk about how they got these objects, he did mention the fact that they don’t belong to Italy (whether they were purchased or not). Moreover, he talked about the role that design plays in simulating the real home of these objects. In fact, as the museum approaches its 200 year anniversary, they are working on remodeling the museum, including a garden that looks like those in Egypt. Greco talked about the responsibility of taking care of Egyptian history, as these objects are tokens that survived the years that humans didn’t. They speak the words that humans from 1824 are not able to speak to us today. But if objects carry these words, these messages, and even lessons about history, adding value to the society of today, one could argue that owning these objects would equal owning history. And so new questions arise: who gets to own history? Is history purchasable? And should this really matter as long as history lives on?

Greco clearly addressed the need for everyone to have access to history through museums. He talked about the importance of promoting the already existing link between the museum and the polis, or community, around it. Events open to the public, as well as collaborations with local schools and organizations, confirm the museum’s compromise to make it accessible while at the same time getting the funds to maintain it. This goes in line with Greco’s argument that the question of, “How to be inclusive without running the risk of being exclusive?” remains a big one to this museum and others around the world. Moreover, an article by the museum’s website itself (https://museoegizio.it/en/explore/news/the-museo-egizio-rethinks-its-history-renovating-the-historical-rooms/), addresses a new point, also covered in Greco’s talk: there is a link between Turin’s (the city where this museum is located) history and Egyptian history that cannot be overlooked. This article talks about the already mentioned remodelations that try to be intentional about the question of “why an Egyptian museum in Turin?,” a question that although not yet answered, is being asked. This article urges us to think about the intertwined history that these two places hold, despite their geographical distance. And isn’t that how our world is being built? A globalized world that shares innovation, economy, and communications, essentially creating SHARED HISTORY. 

I don’t know if I can answer the question of who deserves to own history, but I can certainly say that the preservation of history should be the goal regardless of who owns it. And maybe, if Turin didn’t hold Egyptian history, there would be no records of how these two places’ history became one that remains today, affecting each other after 200 years. I don’t know if this is necessarily good for humanity because I don’t know how Turin or Egypt would look like if their paths hadn’t crossed once, but I’d like to think that this is how it should have been because we can now experience their past in our present. A past that even today urges us to raise these moral and ethical questions about shared history, globalization, and colonization. 

Greco’s talk opened the door to a rich fountain of topics that should be discussed, but they all have in common one thing: these conversations exist because a tangible token of their origin exists someplace in Turin, Italy. They remind us of the decisions, good or bad, that our ancestors held during their lives and reflect on our daily decisions. Moreover, through this museum’s example, we can conclude that design represents an opportunity to respond to our duty, and in this case, to address that these objects do not belong to Turin or Italy, but rather they’re borrowed tokens of history that, as a consequence, generated more history. Museums, without a doubt, play a role in preserving history, shaping our future, but we must not forget that they also lead us to reflect critically about our present. 

Coming into the course, I had no clue what wayfinding was or why it was relevant to our day-to-day lives—enough so as to dedicate one whole class to it. It was on February 8th, when Prof. Puccetti prompted us to visit some places on campus using the wayfinding resources on campus. In short, it was a total disaster: reversed maps, unclear signage, unaccessible lifts, confusing language… It was then pretty clear that, from thinking about accessibility to the role that signage can play when exploring unknown lands, wayfinding design is key in every aspect of our lives, as individuals who are constantly moving, and trying to find their way.

After the campus tour exercise, I haven’t been able to see things the same way—and that is a good thing. If I go to a place and I cannot find the public bathroom or it’s not clear how to use the tram, I already know: it’s bad wayfinding design. Moreover, one of the phrases I’ve always heard, “The user is always right,” has been proven true now that I am introduced to the concept of wayfinding. Finding my way to the bathroom, or even to Berlin, is the result of planning the wayfinding design of the place by being assertive and using the right nudges, also known as unconscious cues, that lead you where you need to go without giving it a long thought. 

Nudges might sound like a simple, maybe even trivial term, but it is key. Let’s say you go to a concert in a city you don’t live in and it ends late—around 1 am. You need to go to the metro to get back home, but you have no idea how to get there and are skeptical of asking random strangers so late at night, but the metro closes soon. Now, how do you get there? Good wayfinding and nudges are key for you not to go through this very personal, and awful experience I had. Similar to nudges, affordance—the property of an object that defines its possible uses—is also key in avoiding getting in trouble and/or preventing the scathing of relevant objects/places that make up our identity and history. These aspects of wayfinding add value to it and the way we conduct our decision-making in life.

Although wayfinding factors like nudges and affordance are important, perhaps one of the most important factors of it, and design in general, is to think like a human, to plan inclusively. Whether you know someone who possesses challenges in terms of mobility and transportation, or you yourself do, or maybe you know no one, it is important to know that they exist, and they deserve to access these spaces as much as you. They—like you—probably want to go to the beach, travel, or go for a coffee around the corner of the street, and they must have ramps, plain grounds, or signage that can help them move around and enjoy—guess what—a normal life. 

From making places inclusive to helping us find our way in unknown places, the benefits of wayfinding are clear, but what about the challenges or dangers of bad wayfinding? As Bernard Rudofsky once said, “Altogether, cities correspond closely to the ideas and ideals of their inhabitants. They are the tangible expression of a nation’s spirit, or lack of spirit.” With that in mind, we can assert that, because wayfinding constitutes the way we explore, navigate, and adapt to cities, and consequently cities represent a nation’s spirit, wayfinding can impact politics, economy, culture, and our existence in this world. Without it, we are theoretically and literally lost in every aspect of our lives.

The scope of the importance of wayfinding reaches our identity and who we are in this world as we explore it. As David Gibson, author of The Wayfinding Handbook, puts it, 

“The heart of a civilization throbs wherever people come together to work, play, shop, study, perform, worship, or just interact. Crowded unto bustling spaces, they share the richness and diversity of human experience as well as its challenges. In these spaces people may “find their way” in the existential sense, but they might also become overwhelmed or disoriented if they physically lose their way. Wayfinding design provides guidance and the means to help people feel at ease in their surroundings.”

In short, what Gibson tries to convey in his book is the fact that we are defined by the places in which we interact with each other, and because wayfinding plays a huge role in us getting to and using these places, wayfinding is also relevant in the role we each play in this world. Therefore, with all of the above in mind and these words from Gibson, there can be no space for doubt that we should all know, at the minimum, the basics of wayfinding.