What (Not) to Do When Designing an Exhibition
12/03/2025
Editorial
For years now, we have been offering reflections and insights on how to tackle the challenging work of those involved in museums and culture.
Very often, we have shared small suggestions on how things can be done—you can find many of them in the insights section of our website.
Today, however, we want to present some considerations on how things should not be done in a museum. The inspiration for this came from our visit to the exhibition Balenciaga. Shoes from Spain Tribute, organized by the Spanish Chamber of Commerce during Milan Fashion Week.
Together with our colleagues, we took part in a study tour, and regardless of age, experience, or expertise, we all left quite perplexed.
Although we firmly believe in the concept of culture as a form of care—especially given the increasing number of studies and articles in Italy praising the power of culture and, specifically, of museum and exhibition visits in enhancing visitors’ well-being (such as Emma Sedini’s recent article in Artribune: https://www.artribune.com/arti-visive/2025/03/musei-benessere-arte-combatte-stress/)—we still ask ourselves: when, where, and how?
It’s one thing to create projects that guide participants toward a beneficial experience, but it’s another to ensure that the free and independent enjoyment of museums and exhibitions is truly designed with visitors' well-being in mind—rather than merely serving the egos of curators or architects.
Below, we share the thoughts of a young Bocconi intern and our art director, an experienced architect. Two individuals at opposite ends of the spectrum in terms of age and expertise, yet both equally unsettled by this exhibition—just as we have been by many others.
Giorgio's point of view
You may not be able to envision yourself lounging on Napoleon’s throne, but there is something about couture that is, perhaps surprisingly, accessible. Everyone – even, despite rumours to the contrary, the emperor – wears clothes…
This is how the article Of Muses, Museums and Money, published in late February in The Economist, ends. These words aptly capture the deeply personal language through which clothing resonates within us, engaging in a dynamic exchange of creativity and self-expression.
But how can such a vibrant discovery be conveyed in an exhibition without allowing the exclusivity of certain collections to turn into an experience of exclusion? How can garments of inestimable craftsmanship avoid being rendered so intangible that they inhibit genuine contemplation?
The exhibition Balenciaga. Shoes from Spain Tribute, recently concluded at Palazzo Morando in Milan, seems to have magnified the most problematic aspects of these questions. The overabundance of pieces within such a confined space almost drags visitors into the narrowest recesses of artistic torment—a struggle that does not end with the awe of witnessing a finished creation. I suspect this happens because nothing truly emerges into the light; instead, it is shrouded in darkness. After an opening set on the steps of an imaginary arena, the exhibition path descends into a black corridor that dampens enthusiasm, submerging the visitor in an unpleasant state of breathlessness—precisely when so many manifestations of artistry should be trembling with life!
It is perhaps emotion—the joy that invites one to linger—that is unexpectedly lacking. The cramped setting, the veiling of certain pieces, and the uncontrolled crowding of visitors do not foster a proper appreciation of the assembled beauty nor a true sense of continuity with the exquisite footwear on display. In short, despite the title, no real tribute seems possible—if by tribute, we mean a collective, almost tribal recognition of a master’s authority. What role did the curators play if so little attention was given to fostering a deeper understanding of Balenciaga? Can one truly be an interpreter—no matter how refined—while doing so little as a mediator?
Simply putting something on display does not mean it is authentically evoked. As an inexperienced young visitor, I could only recognize afterward what the exhibition could have celebrated in a more memorable way—the friendship with Marquesa María Sonsoles de Icaza y de León, Milan’s Spanish past, or Balenciaga’s philosophy of measured elegance that he saw as essential to a great couturier. Furthermore, the playfulness of juxtapositions and perspectives was lost, sacrificed in favor of an environment that was aloof yet highly picture-perfect.
I reflect once more on the article that sparked my thoughts, in which the curator of LOUVRE COUTURE. Art and Fashion: Statement Piece emphasizes how the event is allowing visitors to rediscover previously unknown spaces within the museum. Could we say the same about our visit to Palazzo Morando? My impression is that this only happened in one instance—for the only dress displayed upstairs, in the setting of the gilded salon.
Freed from the artificial austerity of the preceding sections, this small jewel-box required no elaborate staging to evoke a sense of eternity. It was enough to witness the interplay between the coat and the draperies, to follow the gaze from the sequins to the gleaming frescoed floor, to have proof that the sky can indeed be encountered on earth.
A magnificent example of how art and its surroundings feed off each other’s presence—so fascinating that it leaves a bitter aftertaste when imagining how much more the exhibition could have attempted.
Giorgio S.
Camilla's point of view
Exhibition design, collection, display, gallery, exhibition, museum, collection…
Words that may have different meanings yet are deeply interconnected.
For me, a museum has always meant a place of gathering, preservation, and study—a home for objects, artworks, and artifacts. But more than that, it is a space designed to curate exhibitions, allowing visitors and scholars to discover, understand, explore, and even critique.
I have left many exhibitions and museums feeling happy, exhilarated, enchanted—even breathing more freely. And always, in some way, changed.
Of course, the quality of the pieces on display is crucial, but I believe the way they are exhibited is just as important.
So, I ask myself: Why, lately, do I leave exhibitions—no matter how different they may be—with the same lingering frustration? Why do I no longer feel like I am growing?
Why does it often seem like I’m merely observing a succession of artifacts rather than experiencing a narrative?
Is it the darkness that dominates so many exhibitions? The illegible captions? The lack of meaningful information? Or perhaps exhibition designs that overshadow the works themselves—sometimes even the exhibition venue itself? What about confusing, disorganized layouts? Or the sheer number of visitors crammed into small, dimly lit spaces? Have we reached the point of over-tourism in museums as well?
I don’t know—but maybe it’s time we start asking these questions. Because only then can we begin to find answers.
Camilla M.
