A little toilet in Tucson, in addition to many other small things, revived my life’s purpose. This was my first time ever at a museum conference, my first time presenting at one, and my first time in this city. I feel silly admitting that prior to this trip, I didn’t know that a roadrunner wasn’t just a fictional character playing tricks on a coyote – they’re a real type of bird. I was fortunate enough to spot one on a nature walk during the WMA Conference. Encountering new species of animals and cacti, learning about an incredible story of art theft, and spotting Saturn through a telescope with a NASA writer were only a few of the many miraculous moments I experienced during the conference. In my hamster wheel of work, I’d become desensitized to these little moments of learning and wonder that the very nature of museum work is built upon.
Although much of my job is community building, I often feel siloed in my work. I do have a great internal team who supports me as well as incredible partners who help me build experiences, but my focus is so dialed into the behind-the-scenes logistics that the magic of the work often passes me by. I knew the moment that I started planning art events that it was my professional and personal calling. I’ve yet to find a greater feeling than when I can bring people together and see them feel inspired or learn something – either about the world, about each other, or about themselves. So, if I am organizing and I am not receiving the intended benefits of the program myself, I am completely fulfilled in knowing that others do. However, as I start to repeatedly execute similar program structures and go through the same motions of event planning, I can get detached from genuine connections and the very intention of why I do this work.
From left to right: Kim Tulipana – The Huntington | Heaven Quiban – SAM | Shannon Foley – The Mingei International Museum | Elizabeth Gerber – The Los Angeles County Museum of Art (LACMA)
I came to the WMA Conference to present a session I organized with LACMA, The Huntington, and The Mingei International Museum about how to create responsive programs: events that are crafted based on visitor behavior. The opportunity alone to connect with these talented organizers via zoom to plan our panel together was already reigniting my curiosity and excitement for this work. We then took our collective knowledge and shared it to a packed-out session room. This was my first time connecting with this many professionals in my field, so to have others listen to my ideas and consider it as advice was incredibly validating for me. My professional experience was validated in a way I had never felt before and I could feel layers of my imposter syndrome begin to shed. Each small compliment and little business card that was given to me added up to a big reminder that I’m not so alone in this work after all, and that it’s so important to take time outside of my day-to-day grind to be amongst people who want to do the work with me.
In addition to taking time to be with like-minded people, this trip also reminded me of how crucial it is to make time to be outside – outside of my email inbox, outside of my workplace, outside in nature and without what feels like a permanent “museum-professional lens” through which I view everything. This perspective is something that is usually difficult for me to consciously remove… but it was forcibly, violently stripped away from me as soon as I entered the Museum of Miniatures.
I know it sounds dramatic, but halfway through wandering around the content-packed galleries I started crying. There is a word in Tagalog called “gigil” that’s used to describe an overwhelming feeling that comes over you when you see something so cute that you want to bite it – something like a baby’s cheeks or your cat’s fat, furry belly. When I saw the smallest stuffed animal fit inside of a WALNUT and a Tiny Cat Café built within a litter box container, I felt like I was going to combust. The only thoughts that filled my mind were, “How cool is this? How did they do that? This piece was inspired by what? How could I make something like this?” and before I knew it our time was up and I didn’t even eat the dinner that was scheduled for our reception there. I was totally shaken by how great of a time I had. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt that way inside a museum but thank goodness I was reminded because it’s exactly what I hope people to feel through my work.
On my way out of the museum, I found $1 little toilets in the gift shop, and I bought seven. I gave them to my friends and coworkers back home and shared about this tiny toilet, and the microscopic star I saw in a telescope, and the small butterfly that landed on my finger… and then my joy also became theirs. At the WMA Conference, every seemingly small gesture brought up these big emotions that have mellowed out over my years of organizing. I got back in touch with a younger me that found a sense of self and belonging through art and museums, who then grew up wanting to share that gift with everyone. It can be a huge task to take on the job of creating and holding space for everyone, but the big idea can be shared through the simplest of little acts we give to others.
Heaven Quiban is a 2024 recipient of the WMA Wanda Chin Scholarship. She is the Manager of Public Engagement for the Seattle Art Museum’s Olympic Sculpture Park. Heaven received her BA in Communication at the California State University, San Marcos and has worked at The San Diego Museum of Art, in the NFT digital art world, and in various grassroots creative communities across the nation. She is originally from Sacramento, CA and now resides in Seattle, WA with her partner and two cats.
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