by Brent Sverdloff

This article was published in Museum News March/April 2006

What’s in a name? A whale of a lot, we’ve learned. An exhibition title may influence a museum’s educational programming, fundraising, membership, business partnerships, and retail operation. As you read this story of DeCordova Museum and Sculpture Park’s struggle to name an upcoming exhibition, ask yourself: What would I do? How risk-averse is my museum? And finally, is playing it safe always the right choice?

You can’t swing a cat at many contemporary art shows without striking controversy—there are exhibitions of holy icons caught in "don’t-try-this-at-church" predicaments, Cirque de Soleil–style stunts mounted in the buff, or perhaps a blending of the two. Someone somewhere will declare that Decency Has Left the Building.

In general, though, at DeCordova Museum in bucolic Lincoln, Mass.—an institution devoted to collecting and showing innovative work by living New England artists—exhibitions do not offend. Baffle, sometimes. Move in strange and unexpected ways, often. But offend, rarely.

In fall 2006, DeCordova is planning a thematic group show subtitled "Animals in Contemporary Art." Animals have been a constant fascination to artists throughout the entirety of art history, appearing traditionally as decorative motifs, sacred beings, attributes of portrait subjects, as figures in hunting scenes and bucolic or romantic visions of nature. But this show centers on direct relationships between humans and animals, from tame (pampered pets, beasts of burden, or—yum!—products of consumption) to wild (fenced, caged, or hunted), or a combination of the two that both conflates and questions the age-old duality. Although a few cuddly creatures rear their cute little heads, this exhibition of works in all media consists largely of metaphorical, thought-provoking, and at times unsettling imagery meant to engage adults. Witness Catherine Chalmers’s photographs of jewel-encrusted cockroaches, or Joanna Morway’s paintings of colossal,looming birds of prey.

The content, though, is not what’s causing creature discomfort. Some staff members quibble with the show’s working "pre-colonic"—the initial portion of a two-part title that gets your attention, as in the (made-up) title "Death by Chocolate: How the Cacao Trade Sparked Two World Wars." The dissenters deem our tentative pre-title inflammatory, potentially off-putting to the young-family demographic that DeCordova routinely attracts. So what is this bête noire that sits in the room like an 800-pound gorilla? Bite me!

Yes, "Bite Me: Animals in Contemporary Art" has been the full working title since the show’s inception. It’s short, catchy, memorable, and buzz-worthy—and the brainchild of a well-respected senior staff member. It speaks to the distinction between tame and wild animals, uses the parlance of our time, and will leave no one unmoved. It is likely to play extremely well in bastions of budding and youthful adults—also a DeCordova staple. You won’t soon forget it, will you? And you’ll tell your friends, too, whether you’re pro or con.

Other potential titles have since been trotted out: "Beauty or the Beast," "Caged, Cool, and Collected," "It’s a Jungle out There," "The Dog and Pony Show," "A Walk on the Wild Side," and "On the Scent." Clever and serviceable options, but all lacking a certain punch and, well, bite. One staffer even put forth the biblical-sounding "All Creatures Great and Small" and had to be politely reminded that we are not DeCordova Museum and "Scripture" Park.

Truth be told, most DeCordova insiders prefer "Bite Me." It’s the game of hypothetical projection that’s got us hung up. If we go with it, do we alienate as many people as we attract? If we drop it, are we catering to lingering Bostonian puritanism? Would a museum in L.A. or New York be so angst-ridden over this decision?

We’ve worked like dogs to come this far, giving all relevant departments a place at the table and running the working title by trustees, members, volunteers, and business partners—anyone invested in our museum. And we’ve received mixed feedback, mostly pro but some cautiously con, and the latter always speculatively. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard "Personally, I have no problem with it, but someone else might," I could feed a white elephant.

Compared to what kids today are subjected to, "bite me" seems positively innocuous. On a recent trip up to coastal Maine, I lost track of the number of kids I saw sporting locally bought T-shirts with that phrase floating over a cartoon shark. Even Fido and Fluffy can sport "Bite Me" collar tags, readily available in pet stores.

Think back to the not-too-distant past when terms like "crap" and "it sucks" were considered unfit for print in a newspaper. For better or worse, these epithets have become so widespread that, frankly, my dear, few give a damn. I’ve even heard "bite me" elevated to a rhetorical use, an interjection of surprise, akin to the cockney "blimey!"

Let’s charge through the museum and consider the potential impact on several departments. What would choosing the title "Bite Me" mean for our museum’s education staff? It wouldn’t be so different from dealing with other topics that make educators squirrelly. "Nudity and religion," says Lisa Silagyi, DeCordova’s director of education, "are the real bugbears for educators. Historically, teachers have steered clear of broaching these subjects with children for several reasons," she explains. "Regardless of how open teachers may be as individuals, their schools may have strict policies that forbid the discussion of nudity, beliefs, and faith in order to avoid controversy altogether, or they may simply lack the tools for debating these subjects in a constructive and respectful way."

She offers this example: children will usually giggle when they see a nude sculpture. But a teacher able to confront the issue can draw the students out of their nervousness, fear, or confusion by asking questions such as, ‘Why would the artist create this artwork this way?’ or ‘Do you think it’s easy or difficult to portray the human body?’ "We fear what we don’t understand," says Silagyi. "Getting the children to look at the artwork analytically removes that fear factor."

So rather than futilely trying to shield children from a phrase like "bite me," why not take the teeth out of it, so to speak, by asking them why they think this title was chosen, what makes animals bite, etc.? It could certainly open up some productive dialogues about the exhibition. That’s another option for the education department to chew on.

DeCordova’s retail arm—The Store@ DeCordova—offers museum visitors, members, and students a wide array of handcrafted gifts, exhibition-related items, art supplies, and children’s merchandise. Bite Me–themed goods—T-shirts, pet-related products, etc.—may prove to be a cash cow for the museum even though they might raise the hackles of indignant parents who object to seeing this phrase in print.

Grant-funding organizations are other sacred cows that we may need to be concerned about. Will a gimmicky title set us apart from the competition in a positive or negative way, or make no difference at all? Will potential funders consider the show’s academic underpinnings? Will the title detract from the dozens of established artists who have created visually eloquent painted works, sculpture, photography, prints, videos, and digital and interactive media?

Since we began batting title ideas around, we’ve started paying closer attention to event titles used by other organizations. Boston’s Weekly Dig, a smart-alecky news and humor magazine, launched a reader’s choice survey called Click Me! And the rather upright Arts & Business Council of Greater Boston—which has ties to American Express—is hosting a professional seminar entitled Market This!, which could certainly be construed as having crude overtones. A trend is clearly emerging: organizations must roar for attention in an ever-noisier and more competitive marketplace. Upping the ante with a provocative title may raise a few bushy eyebrows, but the point is to be heard. At least, that’s the point from the marketer’s perspective.

Let’s think outside the cage: museums that feel especially daring could pitch working titles to the press to generate some early publicity for a show. A periodical’s readership can become a de facto focus group. Warning: this approach is not recommended if the museum in question harbors strident critics of a title (if that’s the case, the title should be put out of its—and everyone else’s—misery immediately). The last thing any institution wants is to be portrayed as a hotbed of dissent.

Here at DeCordova we’ve been chasing our tails and simply can’t agree how to proceed. Rather than remain sheepish about our dilemma, I decided to take it outside the museum walls (with the consent of other senior staff). So now you are invited to weigh in with your opinions—and even monkey around with the title. Send your feedback to Curator Nick Capasso at ncapasso@decordova.org. In the interest of time, no phone calls, nudity, or religion, please.

Brent Sverdloff is former director of marketing and public relations, DeCordova Museum and Sculpture Park, Lincoln, Mass.
He can be reached at bsverdloff@hotmail.com.