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.

Studying Visitor Behavior

I've written in the previous posts about my experience studying visitor behavior at zoos. Well, I've briefly mentioned it, at least. Although many zoos throughout the U.S. are studying visitor behavior, it is a rare occasion for designers to get the chance to get the first-hand experience of studying how visitors use their designs. I highly recommend doing some informal visitor studies at exhibits you've designed as well as at those you have not. From my past visitor studies, I've learned two consistent lessons:

1. Visitors stay at each viewing station less than 90 seconds. No matter what species is displayed, or how well they are displayed. The only exception is when the animal is extremely active. For example, studying visitors at Disney's Animal Kingdom's beautiful tiger exhibit, I noticed a major spike in visitor length of stay, from the average 90 seconds to upwards of 9 minutes when the tigers had, serendipitously, spotted a rabbit in their enclosure and subsequently went into hunting mode. The experience was mesmerizing, and everyone was swept up into the excitement. This makes me wonder if live feedings shouldn't be more acceptable...but that's another story.

2. Less than 2% of visitors fully read signage. Fully interactive interpretives may be a different story. None of the exhibits I have studied had any of these more modern interpretives.

Researchers at Chicago's Lincoln Park Zoo studied visitor behavior following the opening of their recently opened Regenstein Center for African Apes. The article written outlining their experience supports only one of my lessons...No one reads signs. However, their visitor stay time far exceeded anything I've encountered (although they measured their length of stay differently, by measuring the full exhibit stay time rather than per viewing window).

That researcher in the ape house? She was studying you. 

By James Janega

Tribune staff reporter

April 26, 2007, 10:57 PM CDT

The animal behaviorists at Lincoln Park Zoo have given simple tools to gorillas and taught chimpanzees to navigate computer touch screens, but their latest experiment involved a primate so intelligent and cagey, it was going to take work to outsmart it.

The subject was people and to measure their behavior at the zoo's ape sanctuary without them catching on, a 24-year-old zoo office worker with girl-next-door looks would have to slip on quieter shoes, wear muted colors and follow people in secret by watching their reflections on glass.

Starting last spring, conservation assistant Katie Gillespie spent a year clocking visitors' stays in the Regenstein Center for African Apes, noting where people loiter and what they look at.

With her boss, Steve Ross, she frowned when people ignored interpretive signs and took smug comfort when subjects were captivated by apes. For months, she and Ross hoarded statistical glimpses into how humans prefer to learn about chimpanzees and gorillas.

It was all very scientific, not to mention fun and kind of sneaky.

In the course of 476 observation sessions over 12 months, Gillespie and Ross learned that everybody likes watching apes and nobody likes reading signs. They found people love to pose with ape sculptures, and that parents all too often make up answers for their children.

And they proved the best way to fool people is to let them fool themselves.

"I've had people ask me what I'm doing," Gillespie said. "I tell them I'm taking behavioral data. Then they ask me questions about the animals."

Gillespie, who has a bachelor's degree from the University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point, trained in natural resource management and has a day job as exotic as her office cubicle.

As for zoo experience, she made signs for a raptor walk at the Marshfield Zoo near Wausau. Her real job at Lincoln Park Zoo involves administrative tasks at an office a few minutes away from the ape building.

But on Feb. 21 last year, she climbed into an unlit, concrete mezzanine at the Regenstein Center, looked out windows tailored for watching animals, and listened as Ross told how to follow people without them knowing.

It was a slow morning in the ape center, a tough time to avoid notice. But there are tricks of the trade, Ross reassured her.

Downstairs, other conservation assistants were using Palm Pilots to study apes. Hold one, and people will assume you're watching chimps, he said. Get ahead of people and let them pass you. Use reflections and peripheral vision.

He used the word "spy." Gillespie got the job after biologists told Ross they'd rather watch apes, not people.

Ross had done this before, in 2000, but inside the old, round, dark Great Ape House, a cinch compared with the Regenstein Center's bright, open floor plan. This new place, built in 2004, upped the ante. You could get caught.

"I've had an awful time getting people to do this," Ross told her.

Gillespie stuffed printed explanations of the study in her pocket that included Ross' phone number, to hand out in case she was confronted. In those first days, she wondered if it was going to work.

"It's almost impossible," she exclaimed early on. As a practice subject approached the entrance, she hurried down the metal stairs to the floor below, her high-heeled pumps clanging on each step. The ringing subsided just as the subject opened the door below the mezzanine.

"We gotta get you some sneakers," Ross told her later.

By May and June, when school groups crowded the floor so thoroughly it was hard to move, Gillespie was an expert. She followed kids in camp groups in July, vacationers in August and September, and aborted an observation only once-when a young couple started making out.

It turned out the challenge wasn't getting caught, she found. It was battling exasperation. People complained when the apes sat around, in the middle of rest cycles clearly defined on nearby signs. Parents made up answers to kids' questions. People made mistakes, and no one corrected them.

"You hear people asking questions that are written all over every sign everywhere," Gillespie said of those moments. "But you can't influence them."

So she just observed-always the fifth person to enter after the last subject left. The sessions were always anonymous. Regulars were ignored.

Her shortest follow came on a sunny Sunday afternoon in June: a girl in an organized group who stayed 2.3 minutes while a heavy crowd shoved through the air-conditioned building. The longest visit was in December, a woman with children who relaxed for 116 minutes. January brought visitors in a steady, unhurried rhythm. Often, the subjects stood at Gillespie's elbow without knowing.

One was the man in the blue coat. At midday on Jan. 24, 2007, Gillespie, wearing moccasins, padded down the stairs from her mezzanine perch to beat him to the chimp enclosure.

Behind her, the man watched JoJo's gorilla troop, then breezed past an interpretive display to study Hank and his group of chimps, where he planted himself in front of Gillespie to do it.

She wore a zoo badge and appeared to watch the animals. Every 15 seconds, her Palm Pilot chirped a reminder to note the man's behavior: "Locomote," "Watch Chimps," "Photo Chimp."

The terminology was borrowed from animal behaviorists, and the man in the blue coat had no idea the soft beeping was for him.

Over 29 minutes, Gillespie took two pages of behavioral notes. The man watched both gorilla troops, talked to docents, took more pictures and left. The list recorded only movement, location and activity.

But on the floor it looked like more. It seemed like deep fascination.

A full analysis is months away, but some things are clear.

Watching apes was the most popular behavior, and visitors lingered more in the airy naturalistic environment than in the previous concrete-and-steel building.

The most popular exhibit elements were life-size hands and busts of various apes, which people touched and photographed regularly. The average visit was 15.5 minutes.

But many zoo interpretive standbys fell flat. Just about everyone ignored a looping video describing behavioral research on apes at the adjoining Lester E. Fisher Center. They likewise ignored graphics beside actual apes that described a "day in the life" . . . of apes.

People learned by watching apes that acted as they do in the wild.

It was an epiphany for Gillespie that came on one of her last observations. In February, a young mother brought her 1-year-old daughter to the chimp enclosure where Kipper, a young male, showed off for the girl through the glass. The mother and daughter were delighted by the connection.

"You knew that this was such a special moment that they would remember," Gillespie said. "And maybe that would be more impactful. Even though they weren't reading signs."

 jjanega@tribune.com  Copyright © 2007, Chicago Tribune

 I fully believe every time a new exhibit is proposed, designers should spend at least one day watching how visitors use the old exhibit, and / or similar exhibits (to that proposed) at other zoos. Additionally, we need to instate an industry standard of post-opening visitor behavior research. Most institutions do some amount of study post-opening, but that information is rarely passed onto the designers. Designers need to be proactive and spend some time at their creations, truly critiquing the successes and failures. Only then will we be truly able to truly be experts.

Natural Enrichment Ideas for Exhibit Design

We've all been witness to, and some of us may be to blame for, the red boomer balls in tiger exhibits or the blue barrels in the polar bears habitat.  I've heard guests laugh about beer kegs in the bear exhibits, implying in some manner that the bear's an alcoholic.  Positively enjoyable for the guests and the bear, but still a problem as they bring a wholly artificial element into an otherwise "natural" setting.

Watch Video.

In an effort to curb these disruptions in our suspension of disbelief in an immersive zoo exhibit (in other words, in order for us to get rid of any sign that we are, in fact, in a zoo, and not in Borneo or Alaska), we need to start planning the enrichment as a part of the exhibit design process with the keepers.

Jon Coe wrote a nicely illustrated paper for the Australasian Regional Association of Zoological Parks and Aquaria conference back in 2006.  Within this paper not only does he clearly outline several concepts for enrichment devices within exhibits, but also lays out some general guidelines.  Take a look!

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.

Enrichment as Basis of Design?

For those of you new to zoo design, enrichment (or behavioral enrichment or environmental enrichment) is a means for zoos to invigorate the lives of the captive animals by providing activities or environmental changes that encourage the natural instincts and behaviors of the animals.  As designers, we need to recognize the need for enrichment in the daily lives of animals for several reasons:  active animals make exhibits more engaging; active animals equal happy animals in the eyes of our guests. 

Moreover, as designers, we need to make the lives of keepers as easy as possible.  A cramped or impossible to work in space, makes their daily routines more difficult which means less time to work with the animals and provide for their mental stimulation needs. 

So, providing spaces that recognize the need for enrichment is one step...make spaces flexible and workable for the keepers.  Make lots of storage for things like buckets, boomer balls and other toys, cardboard, and anything else a keeper might want to incorporate into the animal's life.  I've found talking to keepers about their routines and enrichment / training activities both encourages exchange of ideas and information (that, frankly, most of us designers are quite ignorant of), and also works to break the barrier of mistrust between the two groups (which is another topic entirely). 

But what about creating an entire exhibit based not on story, or visitor experience, or site constraints, but on animal enrichment?  I've only heard of one exhibit that did this...the lemurs at San Francisco Zoo.  (If there are others out there, please let me know.)  I've never actually seen this exhibit, but heard a presentation about a couple of years ago at the AZA National Conference.  Not only did they build the exhibit based solely on the animals' needs and need for enrichment, but they worked in the visitors' need for connection by allowing the visitors to control some of the enrichment activities.  I'm curious to see if this worked. 

Another possible example, which I am unsure if was based primarily on the idea of enrichment, or if the idea came afterward, is the Islands exhibit at Louisville Zoo.  This exhibit links several smaller exhibits so that the animals, both predator and prey, can be rotated between the exhibits as often as possible.  This allows the critters to get residual scents of each other, theoretically enriching their lives.  I know in certain instances this leads to more stress than good, but I also know this exhibit is still functioning in this manner. 

Can we design a fully successful exhibit, from the visitor's point of view, from the animal's point of view, from the keeper's point of view, starting from the enrichment goals?  I think yes.  We can always find a way to wrap the visitors into a story.  And, well, unfortunately, but accurately, the keepers' behind the scenes spaces can always be worked out after the rest of the front of house stuff is designed.  I'd like to see everyone on a design team on board for this sort of thinking and see where it leads us. 

In the meantime, encouraging zoo clients to, at the very least, include a statement of enrichment design and hopefully an enrichment goal outline in every master plan is a place to start.  Even if the concept phase of the exhibit design doesn't focus on enrichment, make sure that at some point in this phase, its brought up.  At the very least, ask what possible enrichment activities could be done with the species in question, and think about how the keepers can incorporate those activities even in the simplest manner throughout.  Make their lives easier, if you can, by providing attachments for toys, easy methods for hiding snacks and scents, and giving them access to the highest points in the exhibits. 

If you get lucky, you'll get a client that wants to really explore how to connect design and enrichment.  For the most part now, though, keepers will continue to fight their way through the daily challenge of enriching their animals' lives without the support of an exhibit truly designed for maximum enrichment opportunities.

And if you'd like to really impress your keepers, check out some of the enrichment websites listed in the Blogroll and come prepared to meetings with ideas!

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?

Connection through Design

I hear it over and over again. The same conversation that inevitably goes something like this…Zoology and landscape architecture? Well, those don’t have anything to do with each other! What do you do? I respond, Zoo design.  Their face bares an expression of shock and dismay, ultimately giving way to a smile. I await this continuation…Well, there must not be much of a calling for that profession, eh! Uncomfortable laughter. I smile politely and respond, Actually, if you think about it, most zoos (not to mention aquariums and theme parks) are regularly undergoing some sort of construction, and when they aren’t, they usually are planning for something new. Someone’s gotta do all that work, especially when you consider there are more than 100 accredited zoos across the U.S. alone. Add in the non-accredited, the aquaria and the theme parks, plus think about the rest of the world! There’s plenty of work to do. Not enough folks to do it, actually.

And that leads me here. I’m hoping to educate and learn. I hope to reach those people that never thought there were such people as us. I hope to reach students that have an idea that they want to do this, but have no idea how to get there (just like me when I started school). I hope to reach people that need resources, but can’t find them. I hope to reach those that have resources to share. I hope to reach parents and children (that’s everyone, folks) who are just curious about the profession, because curiosity in our work means you’ve been touched by our work at some time. And if we’ve been successful in connecting with you, we’ve been successful. That’s what it’s all about.

“Connection” is a term we use a lot in the industry. Connecting people to wildlife. Connecting man to nature. Connecting the one child’s smile to the one silly, furry otter face. Connection is happiness. Connection is curiosity. Connection is inspiration.

We often say connections create action. In reality, we know that’s not exactly true. How many of us can say that after visiting the zoo and watching the grizzly bear play in the artificial fresh water stream, heart swelling with delight and the good ole’ warm fuzzies…How many of us can say we went home and started calling others in an effort to collect money to contribute to saving the grizzly habitat? Or, stopped using so much water? Or, even just recycled that water bottle you were carrying the entire trip to the zoo? Not many of us. Zoo designers’ work is important; don’t get me wrong. But, what we do is much subtler than we sometimes forget. Connections fill people with wonder, and, if for one second, they feel empathy for that critter they’re connecting with, we’ve succeeded. Empathy is what builds caring. Empathy is what builds action in the future. Empathy is what makes the busy young professional volunteer time at a wildlife rehabilitation center. Empathy is what makes a research scientist out of a video game addicted kid.

So, how can you get into Zoo Design? A great question. Mostly, it takes passion. I don’t know everything about the profession. In fact, I’m a fairly new comer to the game in comparison to some of the big dogs. But, I’ve been in a love/hate relationship with zoos all of my life, and I dug in as an adult. I started learning to really critique exhibits from the animal side of things, from the keeper sides of things, and, of course, from the visitor side of things. I started looking and learning. I started asking questions, and I haven’t stopped. I keep looking, and keep learning.Hopefully, with this project, I can teach a little and learn a lot. Hopefully, I will become a better zoo designer. Hopefully, I can create connections.