I am a self-confessed architecture junkie. I find architecture to
be innovative, inspiring, creative, and sometimes frustrating. I receive a
daily email newsletter entitled ArchDaily from archdaily.com. ArchDaily says its ”… job is to improve the
quality of life of the billions of people who will arrive in cities during the
next decades by providing inspiration, knowledge, and tools to the architects
who will have the challenge to design for them”. While the newsletter contains a daily dose of
the most interesting architectural projects in the world, it also has a monthly
theme that explores various topics. The theme for October was innovation.
As part of the “innovation” theme, they published an interview
with Richard Saul Wurman, the noted American architect, graphic designer, and
founder of the TED Conference. Wurman also coined the term “information
architect” in 1975, a prescient move, long before the information revolution.
Because of Wurman’s encyclopedic interest, the interview ranged from famous
architects, to design, to music, and to knowing and unknowing. As part of the
interview, he shared some thoughts from a letter he had written for a
graduating class of architecture students where he talked about architecture as
conversation.
“Architecture is the thoughtful making of
space and place. It shelters nearly everything that defines civilization:
families, factories, football, and the sounds of a flute. Architecture holds
formative conversations with everything. The near future is about conversations
between those who are similar and those who are different, and about innovative
ideas that come from such conversations. What will be your conversation?”
I was struck by the many ways that this idea might be applied to
describing libraries. Libraries, like architecture, are about space (physical
and digital) and place. Libraries are all-encompassing of civilization; they
are global in scope. Libraries and their users converse with everything. Libraries
are about intellectual engagement.
Conversation involves multiple ways of learning and knowing. Reading
is a conversation that interrogates a disciplinary or interdisciplinary area. Reading
opens imaginative space to create. Likewise,
writing is a conversation between ourselves and other scholars and writers. Conversation
is both verbal and non-verbal; kinesthetic and gestural. Conversation allows us
to see patterns and build connections. Conversation is performative; bringing music,
art, and dance within its folds.
Our libraries provide rich collections, spaces, technologies, and
expertise that allow for conversation. Perhaps, looking at Libraries as
“conversation” may help students to think differently about libraries and their
student experience. Studying, reading, writing, using technology, accessing physical
and digital collections are all part of their conversation between themselves,
ideas, professors, and their fellow students. Like in life, some conversations
are easy and friendly, some are difficult but worthwhile, some are abrupt and
disturbing. Conversations both challenge and confirm. Conversation makes it
okay to not know, to be tentative, to ask, to be silent, to ask again. The
great cellist, Yo-yo Ma, talks about music being the space between the notes. Conversation
is sometimes paused and silent. Conversation connotes multiple ways of knowing
and doing; it allows students to grow, to change, to find their true selves.
The other idea that I have been exploring is the idea of library
as story. For the past half dozen or more years I have been thinking about
various metaphors that can be used to describe libraries. This particular
metaphor comes from a job talk that I did at the University of Hawaiʽi in late
September. As part of my research into
Hawaiian history and culture, I came across the Hawaiian word moʽolelo. While a
simple English translation is “story” its essence is not so easily
captured. Moʽolelo can also mean
history, legend, genealogy, tradition, and more. Native Hawaiian culture was and still is, a
rich culture of oral tradition. Storytelling was one way that this cultural
knowledge was preserved and passed on.
Hula (dance) and mele (song) are closely related story forms that are
used to tell, teach, and construct knowledge.
The thing that I like about the idea of library as story,
especially thinking about Hawaiian moʽolelo, is that it looks at knowledge and
knowing in a holistic and connected way.
Library as story is familial and not individualistic. It does not
objectify knowledge in ways that are familiar to most Western ways of thinking.
History and genealogy are connected to the environment, Music and dance are
connected to governing and social relationships. The land, the ocean, and the
culture are both physical and spiritual. In today’s quest for interdisciplinary
research, the Hawaiian way of looking at the world provides a valuable lesson
on the connectedness of all things.1
Our libraries contain many stories, although we don’t often think
about them this way, other than perhaps in our literature stacks. Libraries actually tell stories about our
cultures, what we value, the histories and ideas we think are important. While
American libraries pride themselves on building collections that are broad,
representative, and balanced, in many cases this is not so. We have tended to
build collections that have privileged white, Christian, male culture. Some of
this comes from being attuned to what is published in North America and Europe
and not thinking more broadly about the stories that we have missed.
Historically we have not done well with indigenous stories or stories from
underrepresented minorities. Too often we have privileged stories about these
groups written by members of the dominant society.
Many of us have been challenged recently to think about the
diversity of our collections. We need to think about what stories our
collections tell and what stories they enable.
Libraries are “conversations” and “stories”. What conversations are we facilitating and
what stories do our libraries tell.
1. I am not at Native Hawaiian and I will not
presume to say that my limited understanding of “aloha aina” qualifies me to
make any judgments. In my reading, I have become impressed with the Hawaiian
ways of knowing and suggest that moʽolelo or story is one way to think somewhat
differently about libraries in a holistic and connected way. It forefronts
indigenous knowledge as a legitimate and valued part of the cultural story. If these
ideas resonate with any Native Hawaiian (Kanaka Maoli) librarians, I hope they
will take up and develop this metaphor.
“The Hawaiian term, “Aloha Aina” literally
means, love of the land. In its deeper sense, Aloha Aina means love of the
people, family (past, presentʽ and future), the community, nature, the
environment, and all that physically and spiritually comprise Hawaii. Hawaiian
traditional values reflect Aloha Aina, incorporating the ancient Hawaiian practice
of utilizing the talents and skills of everyone in the community, all working responsibly
together in harmony, with a commitment for the present and a heart for future
generations.” - https://bit.ly/2JWFtu5