Do you really see animals at the zoo? A little while ago, on a trip to the J. Paul Getty Museum in Santa Monica, I overheard a tourist guide say the average time expended having a look at a piece of art in the museum is 5 to 10 seconds per piece. Initially this surprised me. At the time I was standing hypnotized next to Truck Gogh’s ‘Irises.’ I imagined museumgoers not even breaking their walk as they blew past. Then I noticed it was the “seer syndrome.” Unfortunately, most individuals who came here were visitors of art, not observers of art. As it seemed, this was the guide’s point too.
Sadly, in this situation ‘visitor’ isn’t as the word implies. In reality it’s the precise opposite. Where many of us picture a seer as mystic or as somebody with unique idealist information and knowledge, the visitors I am talking about are the tourist-like visitors.
Tourist-like visitors go to the zoo “to see the animals.” And, they definitely do.
Too frequently nowadays we use our zoos and museums as a method of satisfying social needs. In the chaos of socialization, the wonderful thing about the individual exhibit is lost. So as to appreciate both natural and synthetic masterpieces, folk need to decelerate and take some time to actually appreciate individual works. Briefly they must observe not just see. THE Change Many years back the San Diego Zoological Society modified me from a seer of animals to an observer of animals. My change happened when I started working as working in the society’s Behaviour Observer Programme .
I’d watch a single animal for a complete shift, taking note on what my focal subject did. By the end of the first hour I knew I was guilty of years of wrong zoo use. In my past life as a visitor, I’d set out to defeat an entire zoological park in just one day with my family in tow. Sore feet and costly mementos were often the ultimate result of the journey. As a seer, I might glance at the animals in their cages, read the giant print part of some of the signs ( name, habitat, diet, and so on.
Look again at the enclosure and then hypnotically move on to the next cage. Then this everyday process would repeat. I could cover smaller zoos in a single visit. Boy, did I get my moneys worth? Nowadays I enjoy familiarising myself with one or two new exhibits and visiting buddies from past trips. I seldom see more than a tiny bit of any zoological park in one day nevertheless, the experience takes over my soul. As an observer, I study each animal and enclosure design, take note and stills for future reference, then relax and watch my quarry.
SHOE BILL ODYSSEY For instance, during my work, I came to grasp and appreciate watching the most peculiar of animals. At first peek, this creature would cause Richard Simmons to become dozy. The zoological society had asked me if I would take observation on the 1st Shoe Bill Stork released on an island at the San Diego Wild Animal Park. For those inexperienced in this species, let me just say this, Shoebills are huge, dreary grey, early looking birds that move rather slower than most dead stuff. My first days notes on a nine am to one pm observation period read “11:08 walked 3 step to pools edge”, “11:19 drank ( duration 35 seconds )”, “12:01 turned away from water”.
Try and provoke the curator with that judicious piece. Luckily, by her 3rd day on the island my target had loosened up ( now moving almost every hour ) and I had settled down. The visitors would pass us by. Each strained cerebrally trying to work out why I was gazing at the statue of the dinosaur bird. “Are you sketching it?” “What is the sculpture of?” “What do you mean it’s real?” “No it isn’t.” “Is it?” The odd photographically inclined seer would stare thru a telephoto at this photogenic statue. The scared seer would launch straight backward. Then, the statue would refreeze and I might make my note for the hour quietly giggling on the ground.
Together we might await our next victim. As a seer I might possibly still be not aware this species even existed. So, how could I appreciate it? I actually wouldn’t ever have found a Shoe Bill entertaining had I not given it due time.
NEW PERCEPTIONS A precautionary note here, although it is comparatively straightforward to from reform a seer to an observer, it’s not possible to reverse the process.
You may never be in a position to suppress being more observant and return to the area of the visitors. This is similar to making an attempt to stuff a full grown chicken into its shell. Zoos as a socialising event will change into a living hell! Seers will find Observers to slow. Even an Observer that’s moving at his maximum potential speed of 2.5 exasperated minutes per exhibit will get left in the dust by that average ten seconds per exhibit of the stealth-like visitors. In turn, an observer will be revolted by the seer’s shortage of interest in and appreciation of the individual animals.
Visitors to the zoo will smack their lips together in an effort to get an animals attention. Do not do this! What are you thinking? “Oh, animal 2,000,000 retards a year subject you to this relentless noise. Now, I’m doing it. To be your selected one.
” Good grief, give me a break.
An observer will need to slap a smacking seer. The observer must restrain, for visitors travel in packs. The observer is a zoological loner. An important person to realise and share quiet time with is hard enough to find in the world outside. Wretchedly though, plenty will never ever try to make the change. A natural avoidance of the unfamiliar will happen.
