The Curiosity That Moves Us Forward

As the year draws to a close, I find myself reflecting on the quiet force that shapes so much of our work here at the Museum of Making Music: curiosity. It’s easy to think of curiosity as the spark that brings visitors in, but it’s just as present behind the scenes. Curiosity is momentum. It is a forward motion that keeps life full of possibilities that we can, if we choose to, imagine into being. In my experience, when we stop imagining and stop listening to that voice of curiosity, life loses some of its spark.

I notice this in my own music-making. When I sit down with my cello, curiosity becomes the driver. What if I could play this passage just a little better than yesterday? What would it feel like to relax more deeply into the string? How do I do that? What might happen if I softened my bow arm, or shifted the angle of my elbow, or changed the bow speed? These tiny questions keep me learning and moving and hoping. And when I follow them, they lead to change.

I realize the same is true in museum work.

Curiosity gives us permission to experiment. We often find ourselves asking: What if we did this? What if we tried that? What if it fails? And the beautiful thing is that sometimes it does fail. If an idea is low-cost and low risk, we give ourselves room to simply try it without fear, without punishment for failure, just learning. If an idea involves more resources, we take our time. We study, we prototype, we seek perspectives, we minimize risk, and then, when we’re ready, we try that too. In both cases, curiosity moves us forward.

For several years, my curiosity has been circling around Gallery 2, Providing the Instruments. Not loudly, but like a small, persistent voice that makes itself heard every time I walk through that space (which is often). The core message of that gallery has always felt a bit elusive. I kept asking: Are visitors connecting with this gallery? What are we really trying to say in this gallery? Is it the best it could be?  Is anything missing?

These questions lingered patiently yet persistently. And then, in a recent meeting with Nicole, our Exhibitions and Artifacts Manager, something shifted. Something she said, a particular word, a certain framing, sparked that lightbulb moment, the kind that curiosity quietly prepares us for.

What if, I thought, instead of focusing on “providing instruments,” we reframe the entire gallery narrative as “accessing instruments”?

With that one shift, everything changes. The story suddenly expands, and pieces begin to fall into place with surprising ease. It becomes a story about people and communities, about the pathways that shape someone’s musical journey, about equity and opportunity, and the question of who gets to make music. And it allows us to honor the essential role of our industry: the retailers, distributors, logistics experts, educators, and community partners who make access possible. Seen through this perspective, their work can be understood for what it really is: essential to a larger, human-centered narrative about reaching people where they are.

Changing a gallery narrative, reframing the heart of an entire space, is one of the more involved transformations we take on, and it will take time to implement. But when an idea feels right, the work that follows somehow feels lighter. The path becomes clearer, and the momentum of curiosity helps carry the work forward.

For me, curiosity is a form of commitment and care. It keeps the museum responsive to the world around us. It encourages us to ask, to imagine, to reconsider, to stretch, to surprise ourselves and, ultimately and most importantly, to serve our members and patrons in unique and meaningful ways.

Here’s to carrying the spark of curiosity with us into the new year!