Five things I learned from design and craftmanship

Back in the 80's I was an art history intern at a great London museum: The Victoria & Albert Museum. My focus was in the applied arts, and I loved being with the furniture department, learning about the way people decorated their homes through the ages, and the craftsmanship that was put in all these objects. Art with a purpose, so to speak. 

The best days, however, were outside the museum, visiting the many stately homes in the greater London area. Every weekend I was at some great building, experiencing a history in objects and stories.

I thought about this the other day, when I was rearranging some of my old books. Now that I am researching exhibitions, conferences and events, can I still learn from studies in architecture and design? Yes I can, and not only because "meeting architecture" and "event design" are part of my scope. Think about it:

-       Every room has a purpose

In stately homes it is easy to find your way. From the entrance to the main room a long corridor shows you a sequence of halls and chambers, each with its own décor. As a visitor you know exactly where you are supposed to go. But it never is boring: there is a logic that still leaves room for surprise and involvement. The folly in the garden, the mirrored room. So how about an exhibition layout? Can it be clear and surprise at the same time?

-       The need of a great architect

Well that’s obvious: a well designed conference, a successful trade show – they need a good architect who can build a gathering  just like a building in wood, stone or any other material. With eye for detail, engaging all involved (builder, painter, carpenter), communicating a clear vision. Including, naturally, his clients. All working together.

-       Add on, but keep identity

Most stately homes have been there for centuries. They saw later additions, were enlarged, had new wings built. Different in style sometimes, but always blending in with the old, original house. To keep them up to date, keep them relevant to the households. Even if a house was only lived in during the summer or winter. Events need that maintenance, too. Adding new (virtual) components, and keeping the brand alive after and before the actual event.

-       Show and tell

The best paintings and statues, the most interesting collections of silver or china, were always on display in the stately homes. Works commissioned by famous artists telling the story of the people that lived there.  A “show and tell” to impress. Events do this all the time. Sharing stories, and engaging an audience – using different platforms or formats. 

-       Partnerships

Most stately homes are situated in large, landscaped parks. Their location was chosen carefully and the surroundings make the houses stand out even more. Dramatic backdrops, sometimes. Great impact. Client, architect and landscape architect working together. Reminds me of collaboration between conference, venue, host city: stakeholders working together, all in their own expertise. Achieving great things when they collaborate.

When they build the best event possible. A special place to be.

Who’s community is it anyway?

Lately I had had a few discussions with friends about communities. A word that seems to be one of the buzzwords. “Old” communities, as in buying addresses and thinking you own them, and “new” communities, as in people on Facebook or Twitter with shared interests and “like’s“. These friends were old friends, by the way, as in before Twitter or Facebook or anything online. Yes, we DID connect before online existed.

Key issue was the sentence: “I have this community”.  

Is that possible? As in a medieval king who owns people?  If not, then no way you have the community. I looked for a definition, finding that a community does not only have a common interest, but also interacts. And oh, it's mostly a free will kind of thing. So even though you know for sure that the people behind your addresses are in fact talking to each other and are a real community, all you have is database, and you're looking for opt in.

So what about events and communities? Does a meeting or a tradeshow own a community? Can organizers and associations speak of “their own” communities? It is a weird idea. And in a time when people chose their connections for more diffuse  reasons and via multiple (online) channels, membership of one specific organization might even mean less than it used to.

But then again, I also  talk about “my communities“, as in “the communities that I am proud to be part of”….    

I do not have it, I engage in it. Community. It is just a sense of belonging.

Comfort zones

I’m always happy when I feel at home. Behind a screen surfing and checking out tweets, on my way to work in Amsterdam riding my bike, or driving from Washington DC to the Shenandoah Valley (routes 66 and 81, via Front Royal). In all cases I know exactly where I am. Not necessarily in the lead all the time, but always in control. Knowing more or less which road I’m on. Expect the expected.

I guess that’s how I have been going to conferences, meetings and trade fairs too. Knowing what to expect, and getting just that. Taking in new ideas, making notes, presenting sessions. Engaging in Q&A with panels, asking and answering, and following the event program. Nothing wrong there, right? Just give me  a schedule and I will find my way. Again, knowing more or less which road I’m on.

In the end this provides me with the ROI needed, but I sometimes wonder: is that all I should be aiming for?

OK. So this week I stepped into another person’s comfort zone: that of my son, seeking thrills and excitement at an amusement park. NOT something that I ever wanted to do as a child, and certainly not something I thought about doing as an adult. But now that he is tall enough for all the rides, it seemed silly to let him do all this stuff by himself. So I sat beside him in the roller coaster …and boy did I know it.

For him, it was bliss. For me it was daring, an experience that involved  loads of adrenaline and feeling completely out of control. However, it also left me feeling great about new stuff and laughing at myself on the rollercoaster picture: slightly anxious, trying to hold on. But full of energy.

Yes, this was an obvious “step out of your comfort zone” lesson. To be applied to life in general, but even more so  professional life, meetings and events, and the research involved in it. So from now on I will try to think about:

·         Getting out of your routine will give you valuable information about yourself AND  your organization -  use it!

·         Let go more – and find out where it leads you

·         Step into the shoes of attendee, exhibitor or organizer: what is THEIR comfort zone?

·         Realize that your comfort zone is someone else’s nightmare (maybe I should stop talking about databases and websites to my colleagues)

·         Disruptive sessions or unexpected changes can bring engagement and fun to events – so why not  to your own day-to-day meetings

·         Volunteer, crowdsource, open up your ‘gated community”  and let in fresh ideas

·         Learn from new (un)conferences, hybrid, meeting architecture ideas – by participating in them

Trick is: not to slip back into my comfort zone right away. I am halfway there already, typing a blog on a Sunday evening. Anyway, I just sent myself some reminders that will start hitting my inbox two months from now. And I asked my son to take me out again – in the fall, I need to catch my breath first. And of course…,there is always a silly picture to remind me.

Under the surface, life is good

I guess it is common knowledge: in The Netherlands a lot of us live below sea level. I was born in Amsterdam, and my life started on a level where fish swim in most parts of the world. I often wondered if that has an impact on you through life. My star sign is  Pisces, by the way, but of course THAT is a coincidence.

Sometimes I wonder whether the Dutch are so tall in general because they have to compensate for their surroundings, and that we all want to be as close to the sun as people that live on mountains and hills. But I am not tall, feel plenty of sunshine and kind of like being so extremely down to earth.

Here, under the surface, there is a community just like any other. But yes, my house is below sea level and the garden where my son grows his school vegetables, used to be a lake. My home town Amsterdam is built on poles to prevent it from sinking even deeper, and we see dykes and dunes as natural parts of our wildlife: a created environment that looks as stunning as the Alps, the Appalachians, you name it.

If you  think about it, life online is also a bit under water. Beneath a flat screen there is a world of knowledge, entertainment, friends and foes that mirror anything you can find in real life. I enjoy that world, too. It allows me to learn, engage, meet new people and find old friends, and to travel to cities all over the world to attend meetings and events. It is a world with no boundaries and no time zones. Real time, real life.

So is that why I enjoy being a researcher, finding stuff that lies below the surface? Digging up material that is hidden so deep that it would take an archeologist to find it in Google or any other search engine? Maybe. But not just that.

The thing for me about research is that I can find all  these little treasures and then give them away. Whatever I find out about people, science, leisure, tech, generations, associations, communities, meetings and events : I pull it out of the water, give it a good look and turn it into something that will hopefully give it a Dutch touch. Literally, since I try to find good events for Amsterdam .

And I love doing that. Nothing more rewarding then seeing  the sharing of ideas and thoughts you helped to accommodate. People from all cultures communicating, learning and doing business. Often with different languages (who speaks Dutch anyway?) but with a common goal. Via new ways of connecting people and old ways of connecting people.

I am happy to be the invisible part of it. Because life under the surface is good.