California Academy of Sciences

With great promise comes great expectations. As the country’s only combined aquarium, planetarium, natural history museum, and research institution, the new California Academy of Sciences in San Francisco is uniquely positioned to highlight the interconnectedness of the living world and the multidisciplinary nature of modern science. How dismaying, then, to find during my recent trip to the Academy that the opportunity to tell a rich story of connection and responsibility is squandered.

If, as their literature states, the Academy was designed to investigate two basic questions: "How did life evolve?" and "How will it survive?" I must admit neither were posed to me in a compelling manner during my wanderings through their exhibits.

There is much to be impressed with: the planetarium is dizzyingly delightful; the living roof top -- 197,000 square feet of local plant life -- is a marvel to witness; Italian architect Renzo Piano's architectural design is a breath of fresh air -- from the outside the structure's elegant bulbous profile blends in with the city's rounded green hilltops and Golden Gate Park's expansive lawns, and from the inside one is consistently startled by a sense of transparency and connectedness between the building and the park through both a careful selection of materials and a thoughtful arrangement of space.

There is much to question: What is the point of maintaining the African Hall taxidermy dioramas? (Nostalgia is no excuse for wasting valuable real estate on stuffed animals placed on sand scattered before poorly painted savanna backdrops.) Was the Disneyesque faux "marsh" designed merely to provide a home for the famed lethargic albino alligator? (What really is to be learned by staring at an immobile white gator parked on a heated rock amidst computer controlled piped-in mist?) With 38,000 live animals and over 20 million research specimens in their vaults (hidden far away from visitors' eyes behind locked doors) is there ANY excuse for an entire section of the museum devoted to colorful information boards crammed with glossy photos, large font text, and the occasional television screen replaying National Geographic segments better suited to home viewing?! (Bring out the specimens for God's sake -- creationist pun intended -- and pique our curiosity through eyes-on interaction with authentic anthropology, ichthyology, ornithology, and herpetology.)

In Yiddish we say, "A shande!" -- a downright shame that from a museum dedicated to questions of life I came away with a profound appreciation of inanimate structure. Architect Renzo Piano is to be lauded for designing a building that is not only stunningly inspiring and visually enticing, but LEED certified (in plain English, it lovingly caresses the environment while withholding its baggage). How long will it take for the "living" exhibits inside to match the majesty of their home? That is the question I pose to the curators and the question they should force upon me as I exit their space and consider my footprint upon this planet.