The first “exhibit” in the new Yale Peabody Museum is a printed wall that showcases what has changed. The wall is a display of improvements from the past four years of the remodel. It details what quantitatively makes the museum better. Large Yale Blue text boasts technical additions: 10,000 square feet of new collection storage, 10 new classrooms, three floors of exhibits. What’s more, 27 additional brontosaurus vertebrae, 2,215 objects on display, and a 42-foot mosasaur. However, the new Peabody is not just an attempt to rehabilitate the physical space and showcase more, but to rehabilitate narratives around the items and their audience. The newfound focus on the museum’s contents as cultural, personal, and living is made clear when you engage with the exhibits and the changes that have been made. Interaction, engagement, and storytelling are the basis of the new Peabody, ultimately showcasing what is human and alive through inanimate objects and fossils.
Coming off Whitney Avenue on Tuesday, March 26th, I entered the lobby of the Peabody, a small rotunda with a matching circular desk inside two glass doors, angled 45 degrees away from one another. The skeleton of Pteranodons, a kind of ancient flying reptile, are secured to the ceilings on wires. The skull of the one above the desk is six feet long, and its wingspan is 24 feet. There are three other pteranodons, a female with an 11-foot wingspan, and two babies, secured around the rotunda. The entrance is very ornate, unlike the open entrances and lobbies of the Yale University Art Gallery and the Center for British Art. After reading the wall text outlining the changes, I followed the crowd of kindergarten-age students and docents ahead of me into Burke Hall, where the dinosaurs are. I then remembered why I rarely make a point of visiting museums of natural history—the information they present is typically geared toward children. Plaques and posters explaining fossils and cast models hung just above my knee, eye level for the museum’s young visitors. An animated slideshow in one corner described species dispersal at a child’s reading level; the displayed teeth of a woolly mammoth were labeled “Please Touch!”; and a description next to recast ammonites and rubber isopods explained the importance of modeling specimens in place of real ones. I was reading things that I (a person who has not engaged much with biology, ecology, and paleontology) could glean, as a child would. I was learning a lot, and it was hard not to.
After completing two laps around Burke Hall, where brontosaurus vertebrates had been suspended above me for most of my walk, I entered the Central Gallery. It is a large empty atrium, and also the first new room on the first floor that has been added in renovation.The upper floors of the museum are rectangular walkways that keep this atrium open so that visitors can look down and see this central mezzanine from any gallery. The new Central Gallery is empty—with only a few couches, chairs, and prehistoric-looking palms—refusing to fulfill the assumption of eminence the title of central ascribes. Yale College senior Jasmine Gormley, TD ’24, who studies plant community ecology says, however, that the use of this open space will be important for Yale students, especially undergraduates in the sciences. “It can be intimidating as a first-year student without a lot of experience in science to take up space in a scientific context,” she told me. “If there’s a place to be or work that isn’t just your lab or class, it makes it so much more comfortable and easy to approach.” For first-year students interested in the sciences unsure of their specific focus, and without much previous research or publication experience, a gathering space is key for making connections across disciplines and engaging with science outside of structured and intimidating educational spaces. Gormley started at Yale in the fall of 2019, before the Peabody’s closure, and remembers Science Hill as not having many spaces for students to work and meet between classes. Steep Café had yet to even open. The Central Gallery can now be a space for students and faculty to casually engage with the museum and collections or host events, engaging in their interests beyond labs and classrooms, which is important as these fields are often seen as requiring fewer “social” spaces compared to humanities fields.
Gormley also works in the entomology collection through the Peabody as a collections assistant and student tour guide. Entomology is one of ten collections managed by the museum, and singularly comprises “1.5 million curated specimens,” of which a tenth of a tenth of a percent are exhibited. The museum’s curators carefully select materials that are both relevant to viewers and representative of the greater reserve. As for entomology, right now that selection includes Harlequin and Hercules beetles, Jewel scarabs, leafcutter ants, and giant cicadas. Jasmine says that the Peabody has hired student collection guides, including herself, to lead tours of these spaces and teach visitors about specimens that are not on display. The Peabody Museum hopes to use its materials as educational resources: if visitors become interested after seeing curated presentations, there may be opportunities for them to see some of the millions of other pieces Peabody manages, collects, and uses for research. The role of the museum is not static, and as interests change and grow, the Peabody can foster engagement for those who want to see beyond the exhibition cabinets.
I thought that I had been to the Peabody before Tuesday, because I had been in both the Ornithology and Vertebrate Paleontology collections before. I associated this with the Peabody, having seen materials that would soon be on display at the times I visited. A caveat with viewing the collections though, is that in order to request any materials, you have to already know what you are looking for. The closed, opaque, temperature cabinets in which the ornithology collections are kept cannot be perused, and I have rarely seen specimens I was not previously interested in. Curation and exhibition are what invite learning, rather than only seeing the things one already knows to look for. Some of the birds in the new Peabody are on the first floor’s Student Gallery and Richard Study Gallery. These two galleries break off to the left of the main Central Gallery and show collections curated by Yale students and professors—the content of their courses and research. Having walked through the rows of cold white cabinets holding thousands of stuffed birds, I appreciated the curation of the small exhibitions more. The few materials on display at the Peabody reinforce the range of the collection, from hummingbirds to toucans to a dodo, while showing off unexpected connections between species. The selections highlight the innovation and work being done at Yale, aligning collections with what is relevant to the people at the university who engage with the collections, rather than just showing off rare physical elements of the Peabody catalog. The impact of the objects is what’s on view rather than the objects themselves just for the sake of spectacle.
All of the major exhibitions place their weight on the relationships between the objects and people. An entire room to the right of the rotunda when passing the stairs to the second floor is dedicated to what the museum calls the “human footprint.” It is a testament to human life on display in a gallery that would typically focus on plants, animals, and fossils. A row of early human skulls and skeletal systems stands across from the reconstructed skeletons of a wooly mammoth and a stag moose; two species that went extinct following the introduction of over-hunting and pollution into their environments. The progression of early human physiognomy to its modern state chronologically opposes the dates in which the animals displayed across the hall on the parallel wall went extinct. This narrative of human influence, though, continues through the room’s interactive components. Several large screens, positioned low to the ground, mark the corners of the Human Footprint room. Their interfaces look like mobile games and they invite audiences to “play.” The first one I came across was immediately to my left upon entering and simply said “CLIMATE CHANGE.” When you touch the screen, the background shifts from the large text and a photo of snowy mountains, to a visual roadmap through “Earth’s climate history,” before showing the potential flood impacts that climate change has on New Haven. At another screen the viewer can understand species migration through the maps of the historical spread of tomatoes, horses, and humans. Humans are not usually shown alongside other animals or plants in these kinds of demonstrations. Relevance, whether focusing on humans or the location of the museum, is key. This is how the Peabody avoids the “ickyness”; by using thoughtful explanation and curation to relate to the people who go there. The gallery and the narrative approach focus on the anthropocene and how humans are a part of it like any other species, not a separate matter. Another exhibit, back in the Student Gallery, covers the wall with the words “Fakes and Fictions: Unraveling Museum Narratives.” The change in the museum’s focus from traditional history exhibitions to a more human-focused approach illustrates a thoughtfulness on behalf of the museum’s curators. This particular display remedies the difference between casts and models with what some museums would call “fake,” such as stuffed songbirds and a modeled Dodo in case in the center of the room. The new narrative is that these objects, “real” or not, are still useful for learning. Acknowledging that people may not see displays as real, the museum considers how they “display, present, and discuss objects, shaping viewers’ knowledge and perspectives for generations.” How the viewer learns and what they learn about an exhibition, be it how an animal lived and survived, the importance of a certain medical device, or the utility of early lightbulbs, human experience, and use is central to the narrative of a museum that is seemingly not focused on humans.
The aim of “storytelling” in the new Peabody was refined by hoping to tailor the experience to visitors. Associate Director of Exhibitions, Kailen Rogers, tells me, “Students and visitors were at the fore of our minds while we were doing this work.” The larger group of administrators, exhibition leaders, and curators held focus groups while the museum was closed: “Over Zoom, sometimes at the farmers market or even on the sidewalk to get feedback from students, families, and people in New Haven.” Successful techniques at other museums influenced the shorter text panels used in exhibits, the simplified explanations that I so enjoyed, and opportunities for curators to create displays that were exciting reflections of their own work.
The emphasis on the human experience of the museum gets even more specific, with one of the central “stories” the museum tells being about Yale itself and its people. Rogers says, “We are a university museum; we would not exist without this community, and we are here for this community. It has been a balance for us, making sure we find new ways to include this community and offer opportunities for people who are interested in museum work to be a part of it.” Some exhibits feature a short biography of a student or faculty member who was involved in curation or emphasize how students continue to work with the legacy of certain artifacts and events. Near the early computers exhibit on the second floor, a panel next to the descriptions reads “Boozhoo (Hello)!” from Madeline Gupta, MC ’25, an indigenous woman in computing who founded the chapter of the American Indian Science and Engineering Society at Yale. The blurb is titled “Women of Color in Technology” to feature voices that have been historically excluded from displays such as this. Madeline states, “Creating products that serve all communities means including scientists and engineers from all communities,” bringing an indigenous woman’s experience into the historical context and how those early computers have led to contemporary usage. Work being done here, and the people driving that work, are part of the museum and the history it covers. What is contemporary and anthropological is not only just as important as, but is actually conveyed as, part of history.
Yale cannot be central to the museum narrative however, without attention to the university’s own historical action. Three new displays on the second floor discuss Yale and the American Eugenics Society, Yale and Slavery, and Hiram Bingham’s “discovery” of Machu Picchu in 1911. “We have these panels that focus on Yale and Peabody history that are not necessarily things we are celebrating, but want to acknowledge and explore,” says Rogers. The panels also bring to light what those specific collections mean today. Directors and curators like Rogers use the collections not only to educate, but also to generate conversations around Yale’s wrongs, and how individuals and the institution work to be cognizant of the persisting implications. This is part of Yale’s story, and the museum’s storytelling recognizes these histories, and calls upon viewers to heed them as warnings.
The narrative of humanity and liveliness in the Peabody’s reimagination is made concrete by rethinking what belongs in a natural history museum. In the case of the Peabody, the answer is art. Masters students in the Yale School of Art have created pieces that contribute to the broader narrative of the room they exhibit in. They work to reconcile the nature of a natural history museum, predicated on collection and classification. The Peabody makes space for art as a tool to learn from, working to create a narrative that centers the animate side of its collections—how they were once used, and how these organisms once behaved. Grounding is a large installation that is lodged in the wall that divides the Central Hall and the Student Gallery. Created by Rafael Villares, MFA ’24, it is a reinterpretation of a diorama, with visible broken china below a layer of soil and plants growing on top. “I’ve been wanting to exhibit in a natural history museum for a while,” he says, “I am really interested in the historical representation of nature… and how we track the relation between humans and the concept of nature.” Villares was born and raised in Cuba, and his work is motivated by understanding landscape, shown through “inversion of familiar aspects of the surrounding environment from micro to macro scales.” He inspects the tie between art and science just as he does between human and nature.
Villares wanted to bring something to the museum that you wouldn’t typically see there—crushed China, the household objects. He started by thinking about cabinets as a way of displaying objects, in the museum or in our homes, and how we all have “collections” in some ways. We store items like dishes in cabinets and assign value to them. Villares begs the question: what is the difference between these galleries and a collection you have in a home? The household items he chose for the piece all had representations of nature, maybe just kitschy drawings of flowers or fruit, but still an artistic representation of scientific knowledge. The layer of live moss above the plates opens the possibility for life to exist there, while the bottom layer exemplifies Villares’ thoughts about what he calls the relationship between nature and the anthropocene. He calls the glassware “sediment we are creating in the world” while the life above it is the future that builds on the sediment. The glass cabinet with life inside reflects back towards the gallery, full of glass cabinets containing taxidermied animals. Villares’ piece is a specimen itself. This raises a distinction: what is the difference between art and natural history? There are pieces from the Babylonian collection in both the Yale Art Gallery and the Peabody, so how do we decide what goes where? The inclusion of current artists in the Peabody reinforces that art and creativity are part of human history. “There is a proper balance in the museum,” he shares, believing human artifacts and art are both displays of knowledge, showing different ways of expressing agency in what one knows.
Run your hand across the mammoth tooth so you can know what it feels like; it’s there for you to touch. Read the plaques, see the skeletons, and decide what you deem as “fake” or merely recreation. The new Peabody is for you. It is a place to learn about humanity through the conduit of objects, art, and artifacts. I’ve referred to it as a natural history museum, but the name was actually changed in the redesign from the “Yale Peabody Museum of Natural History” to the “Yale Peabody Museum.” The change in name is evidence that the Peabody is not yet finished—it is still a museum, but one that is shifting its focus beyond what it is known for. Yes, exhibitions will cycle through and new research will be presented, but even the third floor has yet to be opened to the public. Natural history has a lot of connotations,it could be a museum about sculpture, paintings, dinosaurs, plants, or whatever has been deemed natural. At the center of this experience, though, are the people who create the displays and the people who learn from them. People are back at the Peabody, and the museum is about them.
