By Franklin W. Robinson

This article was published in Museum News March/April 2004.

Being a museum director is an extraordinary privilege. You get to shape what thousands of people think about a particular subject—history, technology, animals, or, in my case, art. If people knew how much power you really have over their conception of the world, they might throw you out of office.

It is also a fascinating job. During the course of one day, you might deal with leaking roofs, intrusion alarms, budgets of endless complexity, education theories, the conservation of a painting, the history of art, and people of all ages, backgrounds, interests, and education; visitors in sneakers and designer dresses; artists, academics, curators, guards, businesspeople, donors, politicians. There’s no other job quite like it.

To someone just starting out, here are a few thoughts on the job:

• You are the director already. Don’t wait. You have the responsibility now, you have to act now.

• You aren’t the director, not yet. It will take months, perhaps years, perhaps never, to become the director, to earn it.

• Be kind. Any organization, especially one dedicated to education and the betterment of society, should be a model of humane behavior.

• Be ruthless. What counts is not this or that individual, but the health and survival of the organization, especially one dedicated to education and the betterment of society.

• Be approachable. People work harder for someone they know. Love your staff.

• Be aloof. Don’t fall into the trap of loving your staff; they can’t forget that you supervise them (and hire and fire them). You can become their friends after you leave the museum.

• Never lose your temper. It digs a hole that’s hard to climb out of. Apologizing afterwards isn’t enough.

• Never let anyone forget you might have a temper. You have to have every tool in your arsenal, ready to use.

• Think short-term. Each day is a building block, a stepping stone.

• Think long-term. The slightest turn may turn into a revolution.

• Forget about doing your own research. This is what curators do; you have a different job now.

• Never forget about doing your own research. Part of what you have to offer the museum is the scholar’s integrity, objective pursuit of the truth, expertise, and depth of knowledge. Also, how can you judge your curators if you are not still involved in what they do, at least to some degree?

• Don’t forget to take a vacation now and then. Running a museum is like getting married; don’t let that first flush of enthusiasm run you ragged. Stay in shape.

• The true director is never on vacation. Aside from the standards—the public model—you have to embody at all times, your vacation is the perfect time to see and reconnect with that neglected donor, for example.

• The numbers don’t matter. Attendance, staff size, number of exhibitions, number of grants, budget size—none of this matters. Quality and service are the mission of the museum.

• The numbers matter. They are a rough, contradictory index, a flawed but somewhat objective indication of how you’re doing. And your trustees take the numbers seriously.

• Appearances don’t matter. How you look, how your office looks, your personal life, are irrelevant to your performance.

• Appearances matter. They shouldn’t, but they do. So tuck in your shirt.

• Start fast. For at least a year afterward, people will talk about what you did, the changes you made, in your first weeks.

• Start slow. People will be slow to forget or forgive the mistakes you made in your first few weeks.

• It’s more difficult to find a good guard than a good curator. The guards meet more visitors than you do; some of them are better friends with your trustees than you are. They can make or break a visitor’s museum experience. So be sure they know you and like you and understand that they are the museum’s ambassadors as well as its guardians.

• Curators are key. With a set of good curators—that is, hardwork innformed, supportive professionals—the museum is in place to become really first-rate. Determining the balance between supervising curators and letting them be free and creative is crucial. And knowing when to trust their judgment, above your own, is equally crucial. When hiring curators, remember that the one indispensable trait—more important than willingness to work with donors, art historical knowledge, respect for budgets, and respect for colleagues—is an eye, the sheer ability to judge quality.

• Donors and trustees. They are the great mystery. Why do they give? Why to this cause and not another? Why so much when they have (relatively) so little, or so little when they have so much? Asking for money doesn’t get easier, but you do get better at it over time. What is wonderful is that some of these donors—who are, after all, people with many of your own values—will become some of the best friends you will ever have. A gift is not an insult, it’s a compliment.

• Genius is in detail. There is no aspect of the museum that isn’t important, no activity or function that’s useless, no person who is expendable. Ignore that one person or function, and you’ll pay for it eventually. So get out your handkerchief and dust the cases.

• Rise above detail. The director is the only person who sees every single aspect of the museum, every single strength and weakness, every need and every opportunity. The director is the only person who really understands and can set the institution’s future direction. Don’t get bogged down in details.

• Know your visitors. They are your primary clients. You’re not likely to neglect your staff, trustees, and donors, but it’s easy to forget your visitors. Go into the galleries every day and watch them and talk with them.

• Know the collection. This, too, is easy to forget over time. You’ve seen that 6^th-century Chinese Buddha so often, why look at it again with any real attention? That Buddha is why your visitors, curators, and donors are in the museum in the first place. With collections, the first rule for directors is, know something about everything and everything about something.

• Trustees. These are your best friends; remember, they hired you because they like you. Always remember that they are as uncertain, awkward, and isolated as you are. They have four great functions; help you formulate policy (they should govern not manage); help you raise money; hire you; and fire you. If you involve trustees openly and honestly in the first function, you shouldn’t have to worry about the other three.

• Leaving. Through the door, you should be preparing to leave, or at least be aware that one day you will have to leave. No one is “director for life”; keep your curriculum vitae up-to-date. Whatever you do, someone is going to like it and someone is going to hate it. No matter how hard you work, no matter how good you are, no matter how much you have done for your institution, there will always be people who will want you out.

Depressing as this is, it is also liberating. It frees you to take chances since, no matter what, one of those tracer bullets will find you one day anyway. If you’re not taking chances, you’re not doing your job and probably not accomplishing much of value. Living with this kind of sword over your head is the price of being relevant; leave tenure to the timid.

Go when people stop listening to you. Consensus is a director’s most difficult but most important task. If you can no longer achieve consensus among your staff or your trustees, you should go. And, no matter how happy or unhappy the parting, the best way to go is with your mouth firmly shut. It’s difficult to resist the temptation to finally settle the score and set the record straight. Sadly, no one else will be interested; most people will just remember that you left complaining and on the attack. But if you keep your mouth shut and work hard up to the last hour of the last day, people will admire your strength, you will keep your friends, and you will be able to return now and then. You will be surprised, in fact, at how many people like what you did and consider themselves your friends.

• There are two great dangers to guard against in this business. The first is self-centeredness, ego, the tendency to lecture, correct, and give orders, along with its close bosom friend, self-pity (“Nobody has ever worked as hard as I have, or been treated as badly”). The other is bitterness and cynicism; this comes from being nice to so many people, some of whom are far from nice in return. Your main job is to make sure that everyone—trustees and staff—keeps on believing in the museum’s mission; make sure you keep believing in it, too.

• Ultimately, you are a fund raiser, and your tenure will be judged accordingly. Money defines the limits of what you can do. Beyond that, a lot of people depend on your success at raising money.

• Ultimately, your tenure—and your success—have nothing to do with fund raising. You are, after all, responsible for an institution dedicated to education and the betterment of society. 

Franklin W. Robinson is the Richard J. Schwartz Director, Herbert F. Johnson Museum of Art, Cornell University, Ithaca, N.Y.