Underdogs: The Appeal of the Small Zoo

I’ve always been partial to the underdog.  Those whose beliefs and perseverance outweigh the skeptics' might by shear doggedness and tenacity.  Those tirelessly working to do right despite just scraping by. I’m one of those people who gladly buys the opening band’s CD despite not having anything on which to play it.  I always choose a local restaurant over a chain.  My March Madness bracket is upset city, and I never liked that Michael Jordan.

The same is true for zoos and aquariums.  Don’t get me wrong…I love the big guys and the top-notch experiences they offer.  Their excellence in care, leadership in conservation and education, and ability to fill a day with shows, thematic exhibits and fun activity; the star species and large, diverse collections they maintain.

But there’s just something about the little guys.  The ones caring for an oftentimes misfit collection of domestic goats, non-releasable hawks, three-strikes bears, confiscated leopards and donated snakes.  Those whose skeleton staff, supported by an army of volunteers, work 18 hour days and happily offer up their own home as an impromptu nursery or quarantine area.  Those zoos and aquariums whose budgets for capital improvements over the next 15 years barely equal the cost of a single exhibit at a world-renowned counterpart.  The little guys.  The underdogs.

So what constitutes an underdog zoo or aquarium?  It’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately, but on which haven’t truly come to a conclusion.  There’s something about its physical size—probably less than 35 acres; something to do with its attendance—maybe less than 100,000 annually; gotta’ include its capital expenditures, its market reach, its operating costs, its staff size and its collection size.  But, really, there’s always going to be exceptions.  What it comes down to is the feel.  Just good ole’ fashioned, gut feeling.  Like U.S. Supreme Court Justice Stewart famously said, “I shall not today attempt to further define {it}…But I know it when I see it.”

My love affair with the little guys probably began with my first real zoo job.  I spent an undergrad summer bumbling through the construction of a Colobus monkey exhibit, part of the huge Africa expansion at the Binder Park Zoo.   Flummoxed by construction documents my zoology classes hadn’t prepared me for, I found myself wandering the existing zoo grounds during lunches or after quitting time.  I remember most the intimacy of visiting prairie dogs, digging through their dirt pile exhibit, interacting with the talking ravens, housed in a welded wire mesh aviary, and the simple beauty of exhibits carefully located between the towering old growth trees of the Michigan zoo’s deciduous forest.  Even with the expansion, this zoo’s character is that of a walk in the woods; the African hoofstock and giraffes wandering the plains of a meadow that just happened to be there.

Similarly, the Central Florida Zoo, located just outside theme park mecca Orlando, takes advantage of its site to create more of an enhanced nature walk than the in-your-face, wholly man-made sensibility of a larger zoo.  Rusticity is embraced and forgiven in a setting where you might expect to spot a free-ranging and truly wild alligator or Florida panther lurking in the swampy woods of the zoo grounds.  This is a place where you know—from the moment you pull into the vehicular approach surrounded by the tunnel of live oaks dripping in Spanish moss-- to slow down, to take your time.  You can see it all and do it all.  There’s simply no rush.

Boardwalk and exhibits at CFZ

Despite the Central Florida Zoo’s lack of both pathway hierarchy and organization based on distinctly defined regions (which do in fact seem to be defining characteristics of a small zoo), you won’t get lost.  And so what if you pass by the porcupine exhibit two or three times in order to see the whole zoo.  He’s sleeping conveniently in a location where you can get a good, close look at him.  From the gravel parking lot and train ride outside the zoo gates to the elaborate spray pad surrounded by shaded seating, this zoo is quaint, and filled with an unmistakable sense of community.  In this region, so ostentatiously built for tourism, this little zoo provides an escape to normalcy and a place for residents (and tourists alike) to enjoy a quiet afternoon in nature with family.

Good sleeping spot, my friend.

Perhaps the most meaningful zoo design experience I’ve had is with the Big Bear Alpine Zoo.  PGAV’s partnership with the struggling Moonridge Zoo (as it is formerly known) began way back in 2005 when we interviewed in the beautiful San Bernardino Mountains in southern California.  The existing zoo, which was the result of many years of dedicated work rehabbing the regions’ animals devastated by negative human interactions, is located on 2 acres in the parking lot of a local ski resort.  The animals living here are non-releasable rehabs and confiscations, like Yoda, a Sawet owl, whose wing was amputated after being hit by a car.  The animals are well-cared for, but the physical Zoo itself does not reflect the level of care and the conservation / education significance of the facility.  Exhibits are chainlink and welded wire, crammed one after the other into its two acres.

Yoda from Big Bear Alpine Zoo

We were hired to create a master plan and eventually to the design a wholly new zoo on a larger site, but still on a tight budget.  And over the years, we’ve watched as the community support for the project has grown--despite bumps in the road.  One day, the new zoo will be complete; the animals will have spacious new homes, the visitors will have an enriching experience, and I’ll be absolutely humbled to have been a small part of making a difference for such a worthwhile institution.

Kit foxes released after care at Big Bear Alpine Zoo from BBAZ

So, for me, the appeal of small zoos and aquariums stems from the fact that it seems, as designers, we can affect change the most at these institutions.  These are facilities which rarely have capital for major physical changes.  Places with big visions, but limited resources.  These facilities need master plans not only for fundraising and planning purposes, but for the team building and strategizing they provide—for clarity of vision.  They need experienced consultants that can offer creative and low-cost solutions to design issues; provide guidance on guest experience.  Oftentimes, simple changes drastically affect the public perception of a place —and sometimes just the act of planning itself illustrates such commitment and resolve to achieve more that the zoo is elevated in the public’s eye.  Many of today’s powerhouses began as just ‘a small zoo,’ but with the support of the community, were able to grow slowly and steadily over the years.

Do not overlook the little guys.  Especially the little guys who’ve made the extra effort to become accredited by the AZA (or EAZA, IMATA, or AMMPA).  This is an amazing feat for an institution of any size.  And as we know, underdogs can impact the world just as mightily as the conventional leaders.  We just need to give them a chance.

Lincoln Park Zoo: Defining an Urban Zoo

Main Entry

Character and ambience are often noticed subconsciously, defining the feeling of a place; contributing to the brand.  Most people recognize historical charm or modernist style, and may understand their predilection for a certain design aesthetic.  Oftentimes, these predilections are borne from a person’s associations with comfort and happiness, as in a childhood home or the neighborhood where two people met and fell in love. The same associations can be true in zoos.  Guests come to the zoo with a whole host of preconceived notions, from their ability to correctly identify a brown bear from a sun bear to their favorite hamburger toppings.  This means that, just like the many styles of residential homes, zoos also have a variety of styles--endearing themselves to some visitors, while disaffecting others.

Formal garden with duck pond

Because zoos cannot be all things to all people, they must clearly define themselves.  And, as often is the case in architecture, taking a cue from their context (i.e. an urban zoo just north of downtown Chicago) may prove to be a well-received approach (although just as in architecture, juxtaposition from context may also be a successful strategy, i.e. the wilds of nature in the middle of New York City).

Lincoln Park Zoo is an example of using context as a guide for physical planning and aesthetic, and, in so doing, is the prototypical Urban Zoo.

Opened in 1868, Lincoln Park Zoo is one of America’s oldest, and its long history is reflected in its physical plan.  Nestled inside Lincoln Park, the zoo’s roots trace back to the addition of a pair of swans to a park pond, quickly followed by the acquisition of a bear.  As such, the zoo is a reflection of the 19th century urban park in which it was derived with grand walkways, formal gardens and ornate buildings.

This was (and still is) a place to escape the congestion and grit of early city life.  A place to recreate with the family, to socialize with friends.  A place to take time, to stroll slowly, to enjoy the softness of a green lawn under bare feet.  This was an urban park that just happened to have animals.

Gorilla at Regenstein Center for African Apes

Chimp at Regenstein Center for African Apes

Regenstein sign

Today, the Zoo is more than simply a ‘park with animals’.  And although the historic aspects have been maintained out of respect (and out of requirement--monetarily and preservation-wise), the Zoo has moved squarely into the 21st century.  The Regenstein Center for African Apes is highly regarded around the country as a leading facility for gorillas and chimps in captivity, both in the physical design as well as the husbandry practices.

Indoor African Journey

Placemaking in Africa Journey

Pygmy hippo in African Journey

The Regenstein African Journey utilizes compelling visual storytelling and theming to transport Chicagoans to jungles and savannas in a rich indoor and outdoor experience.  Portions of the Small Mammal House are fully immersive and spectacular, and the Pritzker Family Children’s Zoo, including the indoor Treetop Canopy Climbing Adventure, is an inventive and playful walk through the woods, pairing physical play with small animal exhibits.

Children's Zoo entry

Whimsical otter ID sign in Children's Zoo

Treetop Canopy Adventure

Alas, the historical nature of the Zoo does create challenges.  Despite renovations, many of the original indoor exhibits (termed ‘houses’ as in Lion House, Bird House, etc.) leave much to be desired.  The Kovler Lion House is especially depressing, with cage after small cage housing medium to large cats, including the namesake.  Although the indoor stalls do connect to outdoor exhibits, the negative perception from the indoor visual (and smell of years of stale cat urine) ruins any chance of a positive impression.  Similar in layout, but far less offensive, are the Bird and Primate Houses in which cages have been updated and refurnished and theatrical lighting added to soften the original historic nature.  The Zoo did cleverly reuse an old animal exhibit building, however, converting from its original use into a centrally located restaurant.

Lion House Interior

Tiger in Lion House

Sign in Lion House

Gift shop in Lion House

Additionally, the urban-ness of the Zoo is in itself limiting. Ironically, getting to the Zoo is somewhat challenging with $20 parking and no convenient L stop. The towering skyscrapers will never be hidden allowing a total escape into the wild. The 35-acre site is landlocked, and without acquisition from the neighboring park, will always fight for space with itself.  The historic buildings preclude demolition, and, in fact, the site itself may have historic preservation issues for future demolition, as has been the case in other zoos with bear pits and allees.

Primate House Exterior

But the in the end, these limitations are what make Lincoln Park Zoo, Lincoln Park Zoo.  The history, the urban park-like setting, the city looming just outside the gates.  City-dwellers find solace in the escape, tourists appreciate the zoo for being apropos.  For its character, its ambience.  For being…so Chicago.

Fennec fox in Small Mammal House

Small Mammal House

Why Master Plan?

A few months ago, I visited with a potential client--who will remain unnamed-- dealing with a complicated case of left-overs.  An older institution with aging and non-immersive exhibits, a disconnected and fragmented campus, and plans in the works for a sister institution.  As we toured the facilities, the director, aware of experiential and logistical issues of his multi-faceted campus, asked how I could help with one specific exhibit.  I smiled and indulged him in some top-of-the-head design suggestions about visibility and theming, but ended by asking, “And what are your plans for this space?” (indicating the mostly unused plaza surrounding the exhibit). “Well, we’re not sure.  We want to change it all.  Eventually.”  

I dropped my notebook to the floor and screamed, “Stop! Don’t touch this exhibit until you develop a master plan!”  I didn’t really do that.  But I wanted to.

What I did do was explain the importance of master planning.  Master plans are essential to the long-term success of zoos and aquariums.  They are tools for exploring and pinpointing issues. They are compasses to keep your staff on track.  They are road maps for the future.

But why, you ask.  Why do we master plan?

To answer the why, let’s look at the how.  Generally, master plans are led and completed by zoo designers, and should include three parts: Analysis, Product Development and Implementation Planning.  Each phase sets the stage for the next.

In Analysis, we look at as many aspects of the park as possible, from your market and penetration to building condition.  We pour over visitor surveys, attendance and revenue records.  We inspect each exhibit and every building.  We talk to staff from maintenance to keepers to administrators.  We gather and analyze, zeroing in on things that you’re doing well and things that are issues.  At the end of Analysis, we create a set of overriding Goals and Strategies for the extent of the master plan.

The Goals are big.  Increase attendance.  Become world leaders in conservation.  Educate our guests.  The Strategies are much more specific—and in direct response to the Analysis.

For example, if our goal is to create a financially sustainable organization, some strategies may include adding a new dining facility, increasing appeal of special events rental facilities, or creating budget-friendly new attractions.

These Goals and Strategies inform and guide the Product Development process; they pinpoint specific tasks to be achieved, specific projects to be created.  And in the Product Development stage, we delve into these projects.  We brainstorm and explore multiple options for projects—creating many more ideas than what we could feasibly achieve in the master plan period.  With these options in hand, we systematically evaluate each through the filter of the master plan goals—which often includes market testing.  At the end of the Product Development phase, we’ll have a list of selected projects with conceptual storylines, plans, sketches, imagery and rough estimates.

Tulsa Zoo Master Plan, from Tulsa Zoo

With these projects defined, we finish the master plan by completing an Implementation plan.  This phase allows us to understand ‘how’ to get these projects instated.  We create a phasing plan—when will each project be rolled out?—and a funding plan—how much capital will the zoo need to raise by what dates?  Finally, we create illustrative site plans defining what the zoo will look like at determined intervals (ie every 1, 3, or 5 years).

At the end, the zoo will walk away with a comprehensive plan to achieve specific goals over a set timeline.  Generally, master plans plan 10-15 years out.  Of course, things come up and even the best laid plans get waylaid.  These surprises are exactly why master plans are so important.  Because we spent so much time creating the guiding Goals and Strategies, any new issue that comes up should be tackled through the same lenses as the planned projects.  Of course, Goals and Strategies may be adjusted over the years, but if the zoo finds their strategic outlook has changed dramatically from the master plan…it’s time to master plan again!

“The Master Plan gave us direction to accomplish these goals and puts us on the path to creating a more enjoyable, interactive and rich experience for the future,” said Stuart Strahl, director of Brookfield Zoo.

Finally, master plans are critical for zoos to move forward—logistically.  Through a master plan, zoos have specific projects to show off, to fundraise for.  The master plan provides essential visual and verbal descriptions that get the market excited and motivated to give.  Not only that, the master plan is a concise definition of who the zoo is (brand today), and where they want to go (brand tomorrow).  It’s a great handbook for employees, and a wonderful platform for marketing.

If your zoo doesn't have a master plan, or its master plan is out of date, the best time to start a new one is right now.

Minnesota Zoo: Be True to Yourself

The Minnesota Zoo, located in the southern suburbs of the Twin Cities, has long been on my list of must-sees, but especially so after the opening of the much lauded Russia’s Grizzly Coast four years ago.  Of course I would find myself flying to the Great White North a few days before Thanksgiving—what better time of year to visit?  Luckily for me, it was a beautiful, sunny, warm day with just enough visitors to make it interesting.

The Zoo is located near a wildlife preserve and surrounded by residential neighborhood.  The grounds are beautifully wooded with several lakes and wetlands.  Most of the exhibits are new or recently renovated, with those untouched slated for improvements soon.  The Zoo is large enough to fill most of a day (I saw everything except the Farm in a leisurely 5 hours), and is well-organized, avoiding large stretches of nothing to see or having to backtrack.

But what makes the Zoo so interesting to me is its understanding of self.  It’s a very self-aware Zoo.

You may think my next statement is obvious, but its important.  The Zoo is located in Minnesota.  Snowy, cold Minnesota.  This is not balmy Florida.  This is not even temperate St. Louis.  This is a very specific climate.  Cold in the winter.  Not as cold in the summer.  Why is this important?  Let me tell you.

First, climate dictates animal collection.  Many zoos try to shoe-horn species into their collection based on popularity with their market, such as African mammals in Canada or polar bears in the Bahamas.  While this can be done successfully, it is very limiting in that it restricts animal access to outdoors.  This in turn either increases project costs by creating massive indoor exhibits or creates distinct seasonality for the exhibits.  Minnesota Zoo made the decision to feature climatically appropriate species along their outdoor trails.  This means the animals will be active and happy year-round, making for a great experience for those hearty enough to brave the exterior exhibits in winter.

The Zoo has invested in some wonderful indoor exhibits as well--which leads to my next point: Climate dictates organization.  Minnesota Zoo realized that in order to attract any guests at all during the long cold winter, many exhibits would need to be indoors.  Instead of scattering those indoor exhibits along a main path throughout the zoo, the indoor exhibits are clustered around the main entry.  This allows guests to take off their winter coats, drop them into a locker, if they so choose, and spend several hours enjoying the zoo in a comfortable environment.

What’s more, the indoor exhibits are genuinely good.  The Tropics Trail features rainforests from around the globe allowing a broad range of mixed species exhibits-- including a beautiful reef tank featuring the unusual zebra shark and--when I was there--the amazingly popular tank-cleaning diver.

As for Russia’s Grizzly Coast, it is genuinely engaging, featuring many charismatic species including brown bears, sea otters, tigers and leopards in beautiful and complex exhibits.  The rather simple tiger exhibit is huge, and even when the tiger is far in the distance, can easily be seen due to the slope of the exhibit and the elevated, center viewing platform (although I was there when the foliage was dormant, so my experience may be different from others').

Throughout, the Zoo thoughtfully designed places to encourage up-close viewing of the animals.  At the small, but well-executed African penguin exhibit, the exhibit setting extends into the guest space via climbing rocks to allow kids to get face to face with the penguins.  The bear exhibits have dens with windows--and they actually use them.  The cat exhibits are long and skinny so they can be seen even when fully asleep on a rock.

Of course, I am obligated to find some faults.  Overall, my biggest concern was with the interpretives.  They were too heavy with text and generally, not integrated into the thematic story of the experience.  They were in no way terrible; they simply were not up to the level of design of the physical habitats.

My other concern was revenue locations.  This may be a result of visiting during winter when many stands are closed for the season, but I found myself wishing for a nice place to stop and have lunch at the halfway point near the Grain Elevator.  Perhaps a sit down restaurant overlooking one of the lovely spacious exhibits of the Northern Trail, or adjacent to one of the Tiger exhibits would work well.  At the main entry building, the zoo restaurant (a food court) is directly next to another snack stand, Penguin Café, which seemed to me would hurt profits.  I could be wrong though.  And of course, the retail shop is in the wrong spot entirely—located between food court and Penguin Café.  To maximize profits, always locate near the entry--and encourage guests to exit through the gift shop.

Overall, the Minnesota Zoo is a great zoo and highly recommended.  If you live nearby, remember the zoo is winter friendly, so go visit in January.  I swear you’ll be just fine.

The Greening of Zoos

Recently, the PGAV Specialty Development Team has been spending a lot of time focusing on practical applications of green principles in the complex world of zoos and aquariums.  (We have spent very little time looking at aquariums as the amount of energy required to run an aquarium is beyond the practical approaches we are familiar with at our basic level of understanding.)  But, nonetheless, zoos are making strides in the green world.  And are finally getting recognized for their efforts. In 2010, Cincinnati Zoo and Botanical Gardens was named the National Energy Star Greenest Zoo in America  for their work including a Platinum LEED building and the installation of solar panels over their parking lot.  That same year, the Indianapolis Zoo received a Governor’s Award of Environmental Excellence for their recycling program, and was the first zoo in the nation to receive the EPA’s Green Power Leadership Award for their commitment to purchase electricity created by green means.

But, I was curious.  What are most zoos doing these days to become green, or at least, to give the impression that they are ‘going green?’  And, how many of these practices are things that we as zoo designers can positively influence or encourage through design?

Last month, the Zoo Design SDT investigated those questions through a rather admittedly simple exercise: We browsed the internet to find green zoos and their practices.

Each of us collected the green practices of three zoos by searching for ‘green zoo’ on Google, then searching for all of the practices that zoo had published online.  We then sorted the practices into general categories, like Sustainable Purchasing, Solar Panels, and LEED Projects.

We quickly realized that these categories fall into two overall groupings:  Operational Practices and Physical Plan Components, or “Things we probably can’t affect” and “Things we definitely can affect,” respectively.

After gathering all of these practices, it is abundantly clear that although zoos are making strides to become responsible green leaders in their communities, there is a lot of room to grow.  Most zoos have strong recycling and composting programs, have initiated a green purchasing program for zoo products (like compostable or corn based dining wares and recyclable content paper products), and have implemented strategies for decreasing utilities usage (like programmable thermostats and lighting on sensors).  But more than that, consistent programs are scarce.

And physical plan green principles are the least implemented thus far.  This indicates that although zoos have the best intentions, we have a long way to go, and as zoo designers, we are perfectly perched to help guide zoos through into the next generation of zoo design: Green zoo design.

To review realistic green options for exhibit design, re-check out my previous post "Green Design in Zoos."

Green Design in Zoos

Back in October 2010, I was honored to be a part of the AZFA (American Zoo Facilities Association) National Conference in St. Louis, MO.  In the shadow of my green genius partner, Mariusz Bleszynski (AIA, LEED AP), we presented a talk about the real nuts and bolts of green design in a zoo exhibit.

Because so much green design talk is generalized, we decided to tackle the issue head-on.  What are the practical applications of green construction in a zoo?  Most zoos utilize green methods somewhere on site, but usually it's applied in what I call the "easy places": nutrition centers, gift shops, special events pavilions.  Places that are typical construction in a non-traditional setting.  But the question always comes up...how do we make a green EXHIBIT?

Mariusz and I put our heads together and came up with a list of specific things that can, in some cases, be easily incorporated into an exhibit.  In other cases, its more difficult--generally because it costs more up front.

I've included a link to the AZFA 2010_If I Were A Green Exhibit powerpoint presentation, but for those who just want the highlights, here's a list of our top tips:

1.   Maximize Recycled Content: Reuse existing structures, spec materials that are recycled or can easily be recycled; Minimize non-recycled or hard to recycle materials like concrete!

2.  Use Geothermal Heating / Cooling: In thermally balanced environments, you can utilize this energy to heat / cool buildings and even small pools.  Wells can be placed almost anywhere, including beneath the exhibit or building.

3.  Use Solar Panels Strategically: Solar panels cost A LOT so use sparingly if at all UNLESS you have extra dollars to spend on green technology, want to create an educational exhibit, or can use to power specific items such as signage, interactives, lighting, gates, etc.

4.  Water Recycling: Can be any scale from rain barrels from roofs to zoo wide programs collecting run-off and wash down.  Can be used for exhibit wash down, irrigation, and toilet flushing.

5. Use Native Plants: Eliminates irrigation and fertilization needs and can be selected to mimic just about any environment.

6. Use Water Based Chillers instead of Traditional Air Based: More efficient, less noisy, longer lasting.  25% more expensive.  A bargain!

Within the presentation, we outlined initial costs, return on investment, and developed imagery to help everyone understand how these green technologies affect the visitor experience.

What is your zoo doing to become more green?

How Animal Behavior Drives Zoo Design

Some designers begin with a poem.  Others look at the educational message.  Still others envision a place.  I always start with the animal. When I start my design process with the animal, I don't literally mean that I sit down with Google (or even--do you remember this--flipping through books!) spending  hours researching the animal's natural history.  What I mean is that I immediately register what I know about that animal and have that inform all aspects of design.  Of course, I've been doing this for a while and I have quite a bit of animal trivia logged away in my own dusty library of grey matter.

But, really, what is it that informs design?  What information about an animal is truly useful in creating its surroundings?  The subject of animal behavior is a nearly unending panacea of amazing stories, but determining what facts help inform design can be an overwhelming question.

To help you navigate the masses of information available about specific animals, I've condensed the vast subject of animal behavior into six basic categories relevant to zoo designers.

1. Food Acquisition:  Are they carnivores, omnivores, or herbivores?

2. Social Structure:  Do they live in groups, pairs, or singly?

3. Time of Activity: Are they nocturnal, diurnal, or crepuscular (active at dawn and dusk)?

4. Micro-Habitat: Do they live primarily in trees (arboreal), on land (terrestrial), in water (aquatic), or some combination of any or all of the three?

5. Personality: Are they shy, curious, skittish, indifferent, vicious?

6. Reproduction: Does their reproductive strategy require any particular element in their physical environment?

Each of the above will provide insight into the physical surroundings that will best house an animal in captivity.  For example, carnivores tend to exert energy in bursts, spending the rest of the day sleeping.  They also tend to prefer the high vantage points where they can scan the horizon and smell the air.  Knowing this, we'd immediately suggest providing this carnivore with several high points in their exhibit, preferably where they can be in close proximity to the guest as they sleep.  Jungala at Busch Gardens achieves this well with their tiger pop-up--highest point of the exhibit is actually a viewing window!

Another great example is the amazing bower bird.  We could easily create just another generic aviary with a gravel floor or concrete basin.  But understanding their reproductive behavior would allow us to create an environment whereby they are able to create their own habitat.  {Or, more than that, we could re-create one of their creations on the guest side of things in order to illustrate their great ability.}

Beyond these basics, understanding animal behavior encourages us to strive for ever-more enriching environments.  To design an enrichment device, or simply to provide a habitat that provides the most basic form of enrichment--choice, requires that you understand the natural history of an animal.

Oftentimes designers who do not have a specialization in animals, jump immediately to the guest experience; creating a place or a story for the visitor.  But, we must understand that a good guest experience at a zoological park revolves around the ANIMAL, not the setting we create.  People come to the park to see animals.  And if the animals look unhealthy or unhappy, the most beautiful ancient Mayan ruins won't save the experience.  Look to the animals first.  Be inspired by their lives before creating a story, and you'll see that your final product will be by far the best experience possible for both guests and the animals living there.

Every animal has a story.  Its our job to tell it.

Resources:

"Integrating Animal Behavior and Exhibit Design" by John Seidensticker and James Doherty

"Part Five: Behavior" from Wild Mammals in Captivity

Snow Day at the Zoo!

As this week’s monster winter storm sweeps across the country, I keep hearing one thing:  Snow Day!  Not for me, of course, but the magic of the snow day, even if it’s a treasure that now only others get to enjoy, is infectious. The snow day! To me, it’s luxuriating in the extra hours of winter sleep snuggled under a pile of thick blankets.  It’s waking up at noon and pulling on my snow pants over my pjs, my moon boots over my thick wool socks, and squeezing my puffball hat over my tangled mess of bed head hair, then venturing out with my similarly dressed sister and neighborhood compadres to build a mazelike snow fort through the front yard.  And only after pelting each other with perfectly compacted snowballs until Timmy’s red and snowy face gives way to tired tears do we succumb to the cold and go back inside to lay our soaked mittens, hats and scarves on the wood stove and warm up with a cup of hot cocoa.  Ah the snow day!

But these days, snow days mean a little more to me.  They mean a zoo-born Siberian tiger in Tennessee who’s never seen snow before.  They mean the beaver in the Minnesota Zoo who’s hidden inside his iced over dam, cuddled up hopefully next to the guest viewing window.  They mean the polar bears luxuriating in the extra hours of winter sleep snuggled under a pile of thick, white snow.

They mean experiences people forget to experience at the zoo.

Winter is not prime time for most temperate zoos.  Winter is in fact the lost season.  The dredges.  The figurative Atlantis.  The time for zoos to get projects done since no one is at the zoo anyway.  But what if winter wasn’t the dead zone for zoos?  Can we make winter exciting for guests, and profitable for zoos?

We’re asking that question right now with one of our master plan clients.  Winter is traditionally the forgotten time for them.  Half the zoo essentially shuts down.  No food or drink carts can be found.  No Dippin’ Dots, no popcorn stands.  Most of the restaurants and satellite retail shops are shut down, too.  Not to mention the rides, and the shows.

They do this, they say, because most January and February days see only a lowly 15 people, up to 100 on a good day.  And this makes sense.   In this way, they keep the operating costs down.

But what if we didn’t need to shut down most of the zoo? What if we made an attempt to get guests to show up, even on a snowy cold day like the ones we’re seeing this week?  What if snow day meant Zoo Day?

As part of the master plan process, we’ve done a quick survey of zoo websites to see if anyone out there is making a big deal out of winter.  Generally speaking, most zoos are not.

Some zoos do market special themed weekends with unique activities like ice sculpture carving and music and dance presentations.  Toledo Zoo even gives it a cute name…Frozentoesen!  Some zoos, like Toledo, also have added more indoor activities like an activity zone with bouncy houses and climbing equipment.

But what was missing was an actual campaign to show visitors what a great day they can have at the zoo during the winter.  What about mapping out a winter experience route that not only highlights the indoor experiences and the shortest routes between them, but also stops at exhibits where animals will be more active and happy in the winter, like the polar bears?  If zoos marketed this specific route, told people how long a walk it was between indoor activities, and maybe went the extra mile to provide enclosed transport from the furthest points, maybe we’d see an increase in attendance.   We know people are willing to come to the zoo in the winter, as witnessed by the saturation of holiday lights programs at zoos across the country—and the success of all of these programs.  But what is it that keeps these folks from coming during the day hours?

I think it’s a simple lack of understanding that the zoo is just as good a winter experience (and sometimes better) as a summer experience.

Of course, we could also do as the Minnesota Zoo does, and physically plan the zoo to have a continuous linkage between indoor zoo experiences thus providing a wholly indoor winter time zoo.  But for those who aren’t ready, willing or able to go down that road, why not just first try with simple marketing campaigns and guest experience strategies.  Why not just first try.  Why not just…try?

Speak up.  Let me know why or why not you don’t visit the zoo in the winter.  Or, let me know if your zoo does anything special for winter experiences.

Zoo Exhibits in Three Acts

Forgive me. This post will not wrap up cleanly. There will be no final conclusion. No simple 5 step process. This post is simply my musings on design philosophy in zoos. So indulge me. But just don’t expect a Hollywood ending. Last night, I took my husband begrudgingly to the movies to watch “Black Swan”--which he was unwilling to see until one of his buddies had seen it and confirmed that it was, in fact, worthy of a watch. To me, it was breathtaking. Mesmerizing. Exhilarating. But this is not a website on film review, so I’ll leave it at that. But, what is relevant is the fact that, a day later, I am still thinking about it. Analyzing what made it appeal to me so much. Obsessed with how it attached itself around my subconscious, seeping into my most mundane daily thoughts. How did it achieve this? What made it so special to me?

The matter is important in the context of zoo design for one simple reason: this level of affect is the goal of zoo exhibits. We are in the business of creating experiences and memories that so tightly hang in your mind that you have no choice but to not only think about the plight of wildlife or the environment, but take action to protect it. That’s the real goal, isn’t it? Name the last exhibit that did this to you. Go ahead. Try.

To say that exhibits rarely achieve this is an understatement. So, on my morning walk through the woods with the dog (and I’ll amend that for today’s walk to ‘on my snowy morning walk’), I continued to obsess. And I think I figured it out.

Think about any story that grabbed you—a film, a book, a campfire tale. Most were told in the familiar and customary three act structure. If you haven’t been to literature class in twenty or so years, here’s the Cliff’s Notes version: a story is divided into three simple parts—the Setup, the Confrontation, the Resolution. A three act structure allows the listener (or viewer) to first empathize or relate to the main character, understand (and care about) the basic problem the story is addressing, then finally celebrate the resolution of said problem. Practically all major movies follow this structure, and most books do as well. It is followed because it works. It’s as simple as that. Now, just because a film or book follows this format, doesn’t mean the story or the execution won’t fall flat, absolutely ruining an otherwise fine idea. There must be more. There must be something that draws you in. You must first empathize with the character (or animal, in our case). You have to relate to him or her. In the first act, we must see a little bit of ourselves in the subject—our failures, our faults, our dreams, our aspirations—or we’ll just not care.

Empathy can carry us only so far, and as we move through the action, or confrontation, something else needs to take hold. We already care about the character, now what makes us hold on? In “Black Swan”, the hook was a purely visceral, physical reaction. This movie was R rated, so the director expertly leveraged sex, drugs, and pain (which I’ve never seen, nor will I, I’m guessing, ever see in a zoo setting!), but combined with the familiar Swan Lake melodies and simple beauty of dance, the body was fully engaged.

This movie was about evoking a physical reaction, every bit as much as it was about the emotional. And nothing I’ve ever seen brought the two together as well as during the resolution of the film. Built into a tidal wave of chaotic flurry, where every frame was an expertly composed visual feast, and moment after moment brought tension and exhilaration to its absolute apex, then, just as we believe we can take no more, the film concluded. Right there. Right at the peak. Leaving you breathless, body abuzz in euphoria. I left the theater alight. Grinning from ear to ear despite the desperately tragic film I’d just experienced. And I’m still thinking about it. Still wondering how we achieve this kind of attachment to zoo exhibits. How we achieve this moment of perfection.

What is Bravery?

Yesterday, Wordpress (the website that allows me to bring this blog to you) sent me an e-mail suggesting that I write a post addressing “the bravest thing you’ve ever done.”  It struck me that I could apply that question directly to my profession, as often bravery is at the heart of design. To be “brave”, according to Dictionary.com, means:

1. To meet or face courageously: to brave misfortunes.

2. To defy; challenge; dare.

How often do I meet or face courageously?  I might generously answer: daily.  Some might say just getting out of bed can be an act of courage.  But that’s not what we’re talking about here.  Daily, as design professionals, we must make decisions.  We must choose the width of a path, the height of a wall, the length of a beam.  We must decide how to communicate our ideas to our peers and to our clients.  We must be courageous to suggest our deepest thoughts to those who are capable of shooting us down with a shake of the head, crushing our hours of glorious contemplation in a split second.  We must speak our minds and forge a path.  As designers, some might argue, requires courage daily.  Not to mention braving misfortunes.

But I’m more intrigued by the second definition.  To defy.  To challenge.  To Dare.  How often do we actually reach those lofty heights?  How often do we truly put our necks out-- suggest something contrary to our clients’ preconceived notions; contrary to our bosses’ well-intentioned strategies?  Not often, I’d guess.

As I’ve said before, design, especially zoo design, tends to push forth, birthing innovation once in a blue moon, only to then regurgitate and spew forth a lesser and lesser version of that once impressive original concept.  Instead of continually challenging our designs, instead of continually working to improve the previous iteration, to learn from our mistakes and successes, we far too often just simply pull out examples and drawings from the last time we built that barrier or concepted that raptor exhibit, and copy.  Copy.  Copy.

So as I consider the question ‘What is the bravest thing I’ve ever done?’ I realize, embarrassingly, I haven’t done it yet.

Multi-Disciplinary Integration...A Mouthful of Fun!

It doesn't exactly roll off the tongue, but multi-disciplinary integration in tourism attractions continues to roll forward as a newly emerging trend.  Discussed before purely as the evolution of 'science-based institutions', this trend is finding its way into all forms of tourism destinations. 

Consider Atlantis Resort in the Bahamas and Dubai.  Not only are these places  over the top resorts with beautiful beaches and luxurious appointments, but they've integrated a themed water park as well as an aquatic life park into their campuses.  Aquariums are found throughout the properties, and not just typical ho-hum aquariums either; we're talking Aquarium! aquariums.  Much like Discovery Cove, visitors can take part in swimming with dolphins as well as enjoying other animal attractions, such as a shark tank and jellies.  They've taken a resort and integrated a science-based institution.  However, Atlantis is not the focus of this post. 

Recently, in my work, we've been spending a lot of time making fun and beautiful places without stepping back to realize what it is we're really doing; without taking time to truly translate our actions into theory from which everyone in our profession can learn.  That is what this post is about.  Refreshing our memories about multi-disciplinary integration. 

Its happening all around us.  Theme parks more seriously integrating conservation issues.  Zoos incorporating science-center interactives which are about more than just the size of a polar bear's paw.  Aquariums introducing land-based animal habitats.  Subtle changes, yes, but all moving toward the ultimate in end goals...creating a one stop shop for science, education, AND entertainment.  However, in the end, I do believe these institutions will filter out into two sects: those based on science and education (ie zoos and aquariums now), and those based on play (ie theme parks and children's museums now). 

Some thoughts on what we'll see in the coming years:

• Zoos (and possibly aquariums) utilizing gentle, family ride systems to introduce new ways to experience animals

• More Atlantis-style resorts with focus on conservation and local habitats, including breathtaking animal habitats presented in ways not seen in zoos and aquariums

• Science centers across the board becoming Life Science centers by including animal exhibits

• Theme parks spending millions to incorporate Educational elements, either as stand alone attractions or as enhancements to rides and shows

Jacksonville Zoo recently opened a new attraction, Asian Bamboo Garden, being touted as a 'garden' first, and 'exhibit' second.  The attraction features nearly 2.5 acres of Asian gardens, with a small Komodo dragon exhibit tucked away into one corner.  The Zoo focused on botanicals for this project, rather than zoological.  This is rather extraordinary, if you think about it.  Concept design always begins with the question: What's marketable?  Projects are built to get folks through the door.  Jacksonville is saying with this project, gardens are profitable.  Generally, to me, zoos that call themselves 'zoos and botanical gardens' do so simply because they have beautiful grounds, not because they ever intend to add new attractions based on gardens.  However, Jacksonville Zoo and Botanical Garden has done just that, truly illustrating a multi-disciplinary integration in the direction of science.

And, finally, Columbus Zoo. Through a series of moves that appears to be an effort to shift almost 180 degrees from a science-based institution into a mini-resort, the Zoo has announced the initiation of a feasibility study on adding a hotel to the already massive complex.  Recently, the zoo added a golf course and a water park (check out their fun website).  Considering the Zoo is actually a zoo and an aquarium, the complex is quickly becoming a major multi-disciplinary destination, with the focus shifting from science to play.  Columbus Zoo again illustrates the emergence of multi-disciplinary integration. I'm extremely confident that as we move forward in the evolution of science-based institutions, we'll see many, many more of these kinds of integrations.

Alternative Zoo Design Revolution?

For those following the conversation yesterday about the next big step in zoo design, I'm posting the article by Coe and Mendez that outlines his theory of the "Unzoo." Let me know what you think!

The Next Zoo Design Revolution?

Landscape immersion, which is a type of design intended to "immerse" the visitor in the same natural habitat as the animal, effectively began with the Woodland Park Zoo's gorilla exhibit.  Created by zoo design godfathers Grant Jones and Jon Coe as a collaboration with Woodland Park then-director David Hancocks and biologist Dennis Paulson, they coined the term landscape immersion, and thus began the philosophical shift from a homocentric view of zoos to a biocentric view.  We now spend massive amounts of resources re-creating "natural" places and cultural phenomena, in an effort to connect people to the earth; to inspire respect of natural places.  Back in 1978, this style of design was fresh, new, innovative, revolutionary; nearly thirty years later, the style has become so a part of zoo culture that any exhibit not designed in this manner is questioned for its validity and chances of success.  However, should landscape immersion continue to be our design standard?  How do we push to the next step beyond landscape immersion?

True and successful landscape immersion requires designers to experience a habitat first-hand before beginning to design a re-creation of it.  They research the essence of the habitat, the ecosystem structure within the habitat, and the natural ebbs and flows the habitat would undergo.  The animal is an integral part of the ecosystem, not just the centerpiece of a painted scene.  The visitor is whisked away to another world, drastically different from the asphalt sidewalks and ice cream shops of the zoo midway.  Today's landscape immersion is, too often, not this.  Today's landscape immersion usually means planting the visitor space with the same plants as seen in the animal exhibit, and using props from a culture as shade structures, means to hide back-of-house buildings, and educational interpretives.  Moreover, today's visitor to a modern zoo no longer has their breath taken away by a landscape immersion exhibit; they simply expect to be immersed in an animal's habitat. The magic of landscape immersion is gone.  Along with that, the opportunity to educate and inspire is waning, because, as Coe has said himself, "Only the emotional side, in the end, has the power to generate changes in behavior" (Powell, 1997).  If the "oh my" moment is gone, does education stand a chance?  

Landscape immersion does not generate longer experiences, as commonly believed.  This can easily be shown true by simply observing visitor behavior at exhibits.  After studying visitor length-of-stay time at viewing areas, little to no difference can be observed between the old, concrete moated tiger exhibit at Philadelphia Zoo and the landscape and cultural immersion tiger exhibit at Disney's Animal Kingdom.  The average maximum stay time of 90 seconds has been consistently shown through observations at other exhibits as well, including the gorilla exhibit and bongo exhibit at Cincinnati Zoo, and the polar bear exhibits at Detroit Zoo and Louisville Zoo.  Despite renovations and millions of dollars spent on landscape, rockwork, and interpretives, the most we can expect of our visitors is a minute and a half.  Is this time shorter now than at immersion exhibits in the early 1980's?  What can we do now to increase this time?  Or, what can we do to get the most impact for our minute and a half?

One of the biggest complaints against landscape immersion is the difficulty, generally, in spotting and clearly seeing the animals.  Therefore, proximity to animals should be a chief concern in exhibit design.  Visitors want to experience something special.   They want to do something no one else gets to do; something they have never done.  Most importantly, in doing these things, visitors feel connected to the animals.  Creating the connection should be of the utmost concern for designers and zoos. 

Another component lacking in modern zoo design (not just landscape immersion specifically) is the integration of behavioral enrichment into the basic design process.  Too often behavioral enrichment is an aspect of the exhibit that is not addressed by zoos to the architectural designer, even if the behavioral enrichment program is being developed concurrently.  Most zoos still see the enrichment program as a separate aspect of the new exhibit to be implemented by the keepers after the exhibit is opened.  Most architectural designers are ignorant to the importance of behavioral enrichment as a means not only to increase the health and welfare of the animal, but also in creating an active exhibit with active animals, which translates into longer stay times.  Thus, enrichment generally is not addressed as an aspect of design, and ultimately we see beautiful new landscape immersion exhibits with large orange boomer balls and blue plastic barrels.  Can these be considered cultural props?  Recently, behavioral enrichment has been integrated beautifully into primate exhibits, but what about ungulates and big cats? 

Connection creation and enrichment are the two most important issues that we must address in order to move beyond landscape immersion. The complexity of stepping beyond landscape immersion may seem a daunting task.  However, the essence of the next successful step will be in creating "novelty"-something new or unexpected.  Novelty to visitors, both within every new exhibit they encounter, as well as within the same exhibit upon repeat visits.  We must create novelty to animals, both in new enrichment devices and methods, as well as within their own habitats.  We need to make adaptable habitats that can be changed on a daily, weekly, monthly or seasonal basis.  We need to make experiences for the visitor and animal that they can share, becoming intuitively novel, since every person or animal will react slightly different in new situations.  Thus, our new exhibits will stay new, increasing visitor repeat attendance, and discouraging cookie cutter exhibit design. 

But how do we begin to do this?  In addressing the issues of connection creation and incorporation of enrichment into design, the first and most critical step will be to develop stronger relationships between architectural designers and zoo staff.  Designers need to be educated by the keepers on animals' behaviors, both in the wild and in captivity, as well as on methods of behavioral enrichment.  Designers should spend a day or two working side-by-side with the keepers as "keepers for a day." This will help designers to not only understand the needs of the keepers in their daily work routines, but also to help create bonds between designers and the animals whose homes they are creating.  The zoo staff has a passion for animals that most architectural designers are lacking.  This passion needs to be shared and experienced by the designers. 

In "novelty-based" design, zoos and designers need to work together to develop new methods of enrichment and test them before integrating them into design.  Design schedules and budgets should include a phase for enrichment development and testing, wherein the designers work with the keepers to create prototypes to be tested with the animals.  If the zoo is designing exhibits for animals they currently do not have in collection, partnerships should be developed to test enrichment devices at other zoos with those animals.  These findings should be recorded scientifically and published for the entire zoo community to share.  If the zoo uses training as enrichment, the designers need to experience training sessions and clearly understand the need and utility of the training.  Keepers and designers should be discussing how all of these methods can be displayed on exhibit.

Specific enrichment goals need to be addressed at design kick-off meetings, making numerical goals for incorporating enrichment devices and creating new methods.    Enrichment must be seen as a philosophical aspect of design, incorporated into the master planning process, because if animals are active and happy, visitors will become more engaged.  Enrichment must be planned not only for the opening day of the exhibit, but for the future of the exhibit as well.  Animals become acclimated to enrichment devices and stop using them.  We must plan for this, developing phasing plans for enrichment, and flexibility of the exhibit design for novelty of the environment.  Most importantly, after the construction is complete, studies must be conducted to determine the successes and failures of enrichment techniques.  These results should be shared with the zoo community, and especially, the designers. 

Secondly, the "novelty-based" design process must become "connection-centered," not visitor-centered or animal-centered.  Connections are created both by proximity and by experience.   Landscape immersion began to explore this idea by attempting to have visitors and animals in the same habitat, thus experiencing the same things.  However, in landscape immersion, we don't experience the same things at all.  As visitors, we have a choice to move into a different area, to eat ice cream or hot dogs, to sit and watch the gorillas or to go see the penguins.  We don't swim in the same water as the polar bears and we don't get to swing around on ropes like orangutans.  What if we started creating these shared experiences?  Can we make environments for animals and visitors that are truly similar?  What if the actions of a visitor change the environment for the animal?  What if the actions of an animal change the environment for the visitor?  No longer would we be bound by the idea that the habitat must look like the animals' wild habitat.  We could make it look like any thing, any place, any time, as long as the visitor and animal are engaged and ultimately, connected.  

We have already seen a movement starting to push beyond landscape immersion, and, in some instances, toward "novelty-based" design.  Several new exhibits, including the St. Louis Zoo ‘Penguin & Puffin Coast' exhibit and the San Francisco Zoo's ‘Lipman Family Lemur Forest', utilize natural habitat but also incorporate distinctly non-immersive elements, and are exceedingly successful.  These exhibits focus on getting the visitor close to the animals (connection-centered) and being surrounded by active animals (behavioral understanding and enrichment incorporation).  This experience, which will be different and therefore novel upon each visit, makes these exhibits extremely emotional and therefore memorable to visitors, and begins to create a connection.  These exhibits are a step in the right direction toward "novelty-based" design.  Using this type of design, we can move to the next incremental step in the evolution of landscape immersion, keeping the "oh my!" moment, and continuing to educate and inspire our zoo visitors.

A Quick Lesson in Zoo Design History

Over time, zoos' physical forms have been a direct reflection of our society's values and understanding of science. It is important to understand where we've been in order to move forward, and its is also important for visitors to the older zoos to understand why certain buildings and exhibits are the way they are (as we know, zoos usually do not have an abundance of money, and struggle to keep their physical state up with the trends). Zoos, in the form we know them now, have been in existence since the mid-18th century. Prior to this, private collections existed throughout the world as far back, it is believed, to Mesopotamian times. Romans kept animals, of course, for sport, but would display the animals in a zoo-like manner, prior to their being released to their deaths in the Coliseum. But we'll focus on the mid-19th century forward.

We can easily divide the eras in zoo design into three general categories:

1. Zoos as Jails (mid 19th to late 19th century)

2. Zoos as Art Galleries OR the Modernist Movement (early to mid 20th century)

3. Zoos as Conservation and Education Facilities

Zoos as Jails

This was the Age of Enlightenment and the Romantic Age, where beauty was of the upmost value and our understanding of the natural world was blossoming into a science.  Hard science in this time was all about classification and comparison.  Linneaus and Darwin were the scientific stars.  The earliest official zoos began during this period, with the London Zoo in 1828 and Philadelphia Zoo in 1874.  The early zoos were based on the mission of science for science's sake, but also were places for socializing.

As such, a balance between beauty and classification was struck.  The zoos of this time were laid out by taxonomic families, and the term "House" came into being, as in Cat House, Bird House, etc.  The architectural style was over the top beautiful.  Highly ornate bird cages and buildings themed in the most dramatic fashion were everywhere.  But, cages were small, animals were short lived, and people enjoyed the animals as beautiful objects rather than living beings.

Zoos as Art Galleries OR the Modernist Movement

During this time, the world was experiencing several wars.  The study of nature became much less important, but Romanticism still existed.  Science progressed into problem solving, and medical advances were abundant.  Vaccinations became prevalent and the idea of killing germs to increase health and extend life expectancy came into being.

During this time, zoos held a similar value as art galleries, and the exhibits became mini-paintings and sculptures.  In the Romantic movement, a proper landscape exists with a foreground, mid-ground, and background.  Carl Hagenbeck became the first-ever to apply this theory to zoo design resulting in the birth of the barless (or 'moated') exhibit.  His motivation was more about creating a living Romantic landscape, like the famous painters of his time, than to recreate nature for moral sensitivities.  This style started to  catch on in zoos, but generally became popular much later.

At the same time, the modernist movement was catching fire.  Modernism requires that form follow function.  This belief along with the advances in medicine and desire for sterilization, created zoo exhibits that were easily hosed down and cleaned regularly.  This meant concrete everywhere.  Additionally, the Modernist Art scene infiltrated zoo design, and the hard, simple lines for which modernist style is famous, reigned supreme.  The result was exhibits that look more like sculpture than habitat.

With both the Romanticism and Modernist styles abounding in this time period, zoo design was more about creating an art gallery than a responsible home for animals.  Interestingly, due to the increased attention to health, captive animals' life expectancies did increase almost to today's levels.  The only thing missing was attention to the animals' mental health.

Zoos as Conservation and Education Facilities

Since the mid-20th century, our society has developed a strong sense of environmental awareness and human rights ethics, which eventually gave way to animal rights as well.  In 1950, Hediger wrote "Wild Animals in Captivity" which opened people's eyes to the idea of husbandry practices and exhibit design based on an animal's natural history.  What a novel approach!  With the advances in healthcare (which overlaps into this era), animals in captivity began to be treated for physical as well as mental health.

During the 1970s, a group of folks at the Woodland Park Zoo (including two young designers from Jones and Jones Architects) decided to resurrect Hagenbeck's ideas from long ago--and to advance them.

Instead of creating a living painting, they wanted to put the visitor into the habitat...Immerse them in the painting.  And, instead of creating a visually exciting statement only, they decided to re-create the habitat in the which the animal was naturally seen.  All of these things were incorporated into the gorilla exhibit at Woodland Park Zoo, and, thus, landscape immersion was born.

Since then, the idea of landscape immersion has caught on like wildfire, and today, is the standard of responsible zoo design.  Understanding the past, I have to wonder where we are headed next...A topic for future discussion.

The Future of Science Based Institutions

The question of co-evolution amongst zoos, aquaria, and science museums has been a lingering muse for decades now.  Back in 1986, Jon Coe cleverly equated the historical relationships to convergent evolution, and through his paper, which was more history lesson than predictor of the future, compared their similarities through time.  Ultimately, he suggests "an awareness of others and ourselves, together with a willingness to communicate, can lead us further into an exciting co-evolution of zoo, aquariums and natural history museums." I'd like to take it a step further.

I often wonder why we separate all of our science institutions, dividing the natural world into equal, but succinct pieces: land animal (zoos), plant (botanical gardens), aquatic animal (aquaria), and the sciences (natural history museums and science centers).  Of course, overlap occurs; zoos have fish and aquatic mammals, botanical gardens have butterfly houses, science museums have dioramas of the natural history of living creatures.  Additionally, the method of teaching the general sciences varies greatly from conservative natural history museum approaches to more "fun" and interactive science centers.

As Coe mentioned, the teaming up of these institutions would be a powerful force.  However, if, going beyond what Coe suggested, we created one institution that presented all of these disciplines, we'd be teaching holistically, presenting a unified view of the natural world that so many children and adults rarely get the chance to see.

The world has changed dramatically since the inception of these learning institutions.  Most zoos and natural history museums began at the turn of the 19^th century, when for the good majority of people, we still lived in a mostly untouched rurality.  These people grew up with nature, lived in nature, or could easily visit nature, and learning about the natural world was most easily understood by the breaking down of components.

Today, however, most people live in cities or suburbs.  Any nature we experience regularly is man-made or man-influenced, and certainly does not contain a wide variety of species or habitats.  Learning about nature now becomes easier through an immersive, holistic approach.  Add in society's constant bombardment with story driven entertainment and eye-candy, and learning almost requires the same treatment.  Or so I postulate.

The Museum of Life and Science in Durham, North Carolina has already come to the same conclusion.  Currently, they house live animals, present botanical displays, a natural wetland trail, and incorporate hands-on science center activities throughout.  This is not enough for them, however.

We envision a one-of-a-kind place, a science park, offering extraordinary experiences indoors, outdoors, and virtual where children and adults learn through the pursuit of their own interests and curiosity. We will be recognized as the leader in public engagement with science in the Triangle region and as a model for science museums across the nation.

Will this be the future of science institutions?  A one-stop shop, so to speak, for education and entertainment about the natural world?  All things are intertwined; nature is a web of life.  Why not present it that way?

Read the follow-up to this post: 'MULTI-DISCIPLINARY INTEGRATION...A MOUTHFUL OF FUN.'

Enrichment Based Design, Revisited

Over ten years ago, Jon Coe wrote a paper outlining the upcoming breakthroughs in exhibit design, using enrichment based (or as he says, activity-based) design. These exhibits have now been opened and are successful. However, ten years from the original date of the paper, designers still have not fully embraced the design concept. Incorporating enrichment devices into an exhibit is one thing; to fully base design on enrichment or activity, is an entirely different animal. As Coe points out, however, design is not fully the designers' decision. A new animal habitat has many stakeholders, and even if the designer supports the idea of basing design on enrichment, the entire team of administrators, keepers, curators, and Board of Directors, not to mention all members of the design team, must also agree.

In many cases, the resources (of time, money, and/or space) just aren't there. Many times, the decision comes down to making an immersive environment or making an enriching environment. Unfortunately, many folks in the industry still hold onto the idea that an immersive environment equals animal health and activity, or at least, equal visitor satisfaction. However, active animals are much more powerful than a pretty environment, and we must work on our clients to understand this.

Learning at Zoos...Do they get it?

Learning is the culmination of perceptions and knowledge.  It is assessed by changes in attitude and behavior (Powell, 1969).  Therefore, creation of meaning is a form of learning.  "Learning...is the means through which we acquire not only skills and knowledge, but values, attitudes, and emotional reactions" (Taylor, 2002).  As educators know, people learn by different means:  visual clues, reading, hands-on experience, imitation, and so on.  Successful learning generally occurs through repetition and utilization of multiple channels of education (Powell, 1969).  In assigning meaning to a zoo exhibit, a person can learn through contextual clues of the exhibit, written signage, hands-on interpretives, and docents. Although several channels of learning are available to a zoo visitor, it is important to remember that successful education depends on the "inclination and ability to receive and to respond" to these education channels (Taylor, 2002).  Understanding that visitors may or may not be visiting the zoo with the intention of learning is a first step to more successfully educating the visitors.  This means that we must not only provide interesting signage and interpretives, but we have the daunting task of ensuring that every aspect of the exhibit follows the educational message we are intending to send. 

Additionally, we have to create an environment where learning is fun.  Usually, people don't come to the zoo to read.  Walking up to an exhibit with a slew text on a sign can be overly intimidating to visitors.  I've done studies on visitor behavior and have found that barely 2% of visitors completely read text panels next to zoo exhibits.  Most glance at the sign to learn the name of the animal or some other easily accessible information, depending on how the sign is laid out, like where its from or what it eats.  Therefore, learning and meaning assessment is generally accoomplished through visual cues and sensorial experience, and not intentional educational signage. 

Because of this, many designers live by the notion of "Edutainment" (educational entertainment).  Obviously, this style of design requires us to develop an in-depth story for experience alongside the equally important educational "big idea".  The two intertwine and support each other.  Recently, edutainment has meant an engaging, true to life environment, completely immersing the visitor in the natural habitat of the animal along with the region's cultural cues.  However, I question if we cannot spread our wings a bit from the reality of a specific place to encompass more of a fantasy feeling, to entertain, while still meeting our educational goals. 

Ultimately, learning in zoos and aquariums (and museums, as well) must be recongnized as a crucial component in our designs.  Being responsible designers means to be aware of the meaning our guests assign to the experience they just encountered.  Did the rollercoaster through the orangutan exhibit subconsciously lower the value of the orangutan to the visitor, or did it heighten the excitement of the experience thereby increasing the excitement associated with all aspects of the experience, including the animals related?  Did the addition of text heavy graphics throughout the exhibit make the exhibit less fun for the visitor, or make the information less accessible to them?  What about that trench drain at the foot of the underwater viewing area?  How does that affect the viewer's experience? 

At the heart of the issue is why we are doing what we do.  Connection.  If someone doesnt entirely get all of the educational goals at the end of their experience, but do walk away thinking, Man, those Orangutans are cool!  Then we did our job, in my humble opinion. 

Video Games Get It...Do We?

My husband is an avid gamer.  Consequently, I am a gamer by marriage.  If I want to spend quality time with my man, I must understand the difference between RPGs (role playing games) and FPSs (first person shooters), be able to identify a side scroller vs. a top down, know what a "cut scene" is, and understand why Grand Theft Auto 4 isn't called Grand Theft Auto 6, despite the fact that it is, in fact, the sixth installment.  I know what he means when he yells into the mini mic perched over his ear, "I got shottie," or why he gets so angry when his game is "laggy."  However, I'm not blessed with the ability to actually play these games (with the exception of Wii's Petz Catz 2 and, surprisingly, I'm wicked with the chainsaw in Gears of War).   So I spend many, many hours watching the games.  And as he plays through the games, beating the bosses and eventually beating the game, I feel as if I was part of the accomplishment.  It's sad, yes, but, oh, so true.  (And, for those of you who didn't understand most of the above paragraph, I apologize.)   

All of these hours of game play watching have made me realize some things about today's video games.  For those uninitiated to gaming, I will expound. 

1.  Video games are compelling.  The very best have storylines more interesting and well-written than many of today's movie blockbusters.  Beyond the main storyline, some require variations of dialogue written for different options chosen as you play along (if you choose to kill someone vs. sparing their life, for instance).  A brilliant example of writing in video games is in the overly controversial Grand Theft Auto 4 in which players can watch a myriad of television channels, each with their own created-for-the-game television programming, or listen to 18 channels of radio with commercials and talk shows written just for the game. 

2.  Video games are beautiful.  The craft of video game creation is based in graphic illustration.  Look at any of the concept art of literally ANY game and you'll find gorgeous renderings of characters, places, and costumes that rival any fashion or film illustrations.  Even the games themselves are getting more and more life-like, or fantastical, in their nature, becoming more visually stunning with every new big release.  My husband is in awe of his current challenge, Metal Gear Solid 4, for making him believe for the first time in a game that he was actually watching live action, when he was, in fact, watching an animated cut scene.   My favorite of his games, Bioshock, is so beautifully art directed it makes me sad to think they are possibly turning it into a film.  Film could never recreate the richness, fantasy, and eeriness of the animated game. 

3.  Video games are repeatable.  Even after he's beaten the game, my husband will go back to games to replay levels, change characters, or change the path the character takes.  You can't do that with books or movies as the experience is always the same.

4.  Video games require that you learn.  This may be a surprising one to those who believe video games are spawn of Satan.  Whether it's a puzzle game intentionally challenging your mental capacity and wit, or just a regular old first person shooter, you have to learn the nuances of the game play, understand the characters you are playing and plotting against, and learn the setting and story.  If not, you simply cannot play the game. One of my favorite examples of both writing and mental stamina is Portal.  This is a puzzle game requiring you to understand geometry and spatial relationships.  I couldn't even follow my husband past the first initial learning levels as he played through to the final level.  This was an entirely new way to look at space and your ability to manipulate the environment.  Not to mention the game's ability to make a steel cube incredibly cute and lovable. 

I could keep writing on why I believe video games are beneficial, but this is about exhibit design.  So I should get to that.  

Remove the words "video games" from the aforementioned list, and replace it with "exhibits" (be it zoo, aquarium, or museum).  These are the attributes we strive for in every exhibit.  Compelling, beautiful, repeatable, and educational.  Every time.  What is it that video games do that we don't?  

The major difference is that exhibits tend to be passive, despite the interactives and graphics we infuse them.  Visitors follow one path that we've designed specifically to experience in a specific order.  Just like a movie.  We've created an emotional journey that we want the visitor to experience, as we've designed it, step by step.  Sure, we have exhibits that are more free-for-all types that allow you to mingle among the animals, more like an art gallery or art museum.  However, even these have their emotional arcs.  

Remember the old "Choose Your Own Adventure" books from the eighties?  That's what modern video games are to this generation.  You start out on a set path, and along the way you can choose several options, whether it's actually affecting the storyline or it's a matter of making your character look as you'd prefer, it's your choice.  You're in control.   Or so it seems.  

What if we started doing this with exhibits?  Could we plausibly allow visitors to choose their own path, whereby they might or might not see the same animals as someone choosing differently.  Could we develop an educational storyline to support our mission within this context?  Absolutely.  In fact, the story might end up being much more dramatic and effective if the visitor was to take an active role in choosing their own fate.  For example, pose the question to the visitor as they enter...Are you a conservationist or a poacher?  Two separate paths.  Along these paths, the visitor will be faced with more questions and more "doors" to choose from.  Eventually, paths will collide and merge, but along the way, choices cause visible effects.  This way, visitors would be encouraged to repeat the exhibit to see how other choices would affect their outcome.  

Now, pair this with visually stunning settings, designed down to the atmospheric lighting and smells, and well-written graphics, and you've got people's attention.  If they are caught up in the environment, caught up in the story, they're learning.  Whether they like it or not.  

Designers will argue they already deliver beautiful environments.  I have to say, go rent Bioshock and muddle your way through, and tell me one aquarium that's even half as beautiful and engaging. Then we'll talk. 

Messages and Meanings...Part 2

Message and meaning are two terms that are generally used interchangeably, but have distinct implications in relation to exhibitry.  The message is the verbal communication received by the visitor. This is the intended communication from the zoo; what is written on the signs and the underlying communication used to help define the design.  The meaning is then determined by the contextual clues given by the environment plus the message (Robinson, 1995).  The meaning is what the visitor interprets from the exhibit, and therefore is what ultimately affects their attitude and educational experience. 

Message = Educational Big Idea.  Meaning = Visitor Interpretation.

Context can easily be in contradiction to the message, which can cause visitors to walk away with an unclear meaning.  Such is the case in historic zoo exhibits where, for example, steel bars on concrete boxes stand between the visitor and the animal, while at the same time, graphics discuss the importance of this animal in a healthy ecosystem.  Before the Philadelphia Zoo underwent a much needed renovation of its Cat House, the historic exhibit was an excellent example of this confusion.

Ambiguity of meaning will undermine the effectiveness of an exhibit.  Therefore, a successful exhibit would convey both a positive conservation message and an unambiguous meaning of respect.

This does not, however, define a successful exhibit as a landscape immersion exhibit.  Architecture can easily be incorporated into an exhibit, or even be the dominant feature of the exhibit.  However, this is a subject for a later discussion.  The creation of a compelling storyline along with the educational message, backed by all aspects of design following through on the story, would make a successful and clear message and take away meaning for guests.   

Next, we'll discuss how learning affects meaning.

Messages and Meanings...Part 1

Excerpted from my thesis entitled "Historic Zoo Architecture: Creating New Meaning"

Miscommunication, whether between two people or between a facility and its masses of visitors, is a very important issue in zoo design today.  Zoo professionals strive to educate the public on the ideals of conservation.  Using exhibit design and intricate interpretives and signage, zoos attempt to educate while entertaining.  In many cases, zoo professionals and designers overlook the contextual clues we unknowingly pass onto visitors.  Sometimes our biases blind us to details that may affect how visitors receive the conservation message we are trying to pass on. 

To further complicate things, zoos today are oftentimes utilizing exhibits that are old and outdated.  With over 100 zoos in the United States having opened over 50 years ago, a good number of exhibits in use today are outdated (Kisling, Jr., 2001).   These exhibits can carry more obvious contradictory clues to the conservation message, and create a situation in which visitors walk away not understanding the message and even worse, having negative feelings toward the animal or zoo.   Exhibits that are dominated by human forces, such as art and architecture, may oppose conservation and preservation ideals creating an ambiguous meaning for visitors.   Art and architecture are human centered activities that can create the subliminal message "We are more important than wildlife and nature".

In this day and age, a great many zoos are considered historic, sustaining historic structures, and limited in space by urban situations.  Zoo designers are facing the challenge of not only increasing the quality and level of communication of zoo messages but also reusing these historic structures in a way that allows clear positive meaning for visitors.  The question now is:  Can this be done?