The options for controlling the circumstances in the virtual museum – or freedom as Jeroen calls it – are substantial. In the virtual museum the visitor has indeed the freedom to walk upside down and to act as if he or she is a mouse. This kind of control is comparable to what Uricchio (2005, p. 335) calls the “control over the genesis of the episode” in computer games. But the extent of control in the virtual museum goes beyond the kind of control within the physical space. As Jeroen has already illustrated, virtual museum visitors are free to determine their ‘real’ environments in the same time. That is how virtual museums optimally personalize the physical museums, overcome the supposed dichotomy between the public and the private sphere and create ‘permeable spaces’ (cf. Drotner, 2005).

I think that at this point it isn’t that big of a deal to conclude that the virtual museum leaves much more space for personal control than does the physical museum. In the physical museum the environment is in some sense forced upon the visitor. But when we dive deeper into this question, we see that the extent of control in the virtual museum is also fairly limited, in some way even less than in the physical museum. Take the simple fact that you cannot escape sunset in the virtual reality of the museum. So, Jeroen is right when he states that people of the Armenian diaspora can visit the virtual museum whenever they like to, but he overlooks the fact that the impression that stems from the virtual museum is one of eternal sunset. In other words, you have the freedom to determine the opening times yourself in ‘real time’, but miss the freedom to determine at what time of the day to experience the museum virtually.

Let’s imagine a virtual genocide museum that evokes the impression of virtual reality more than does the virtual museum we have been studying. In the first place it would be more ‘real’ if the virtual space was based on webcam images, so that virtual visitors experience the virtual museum ‘live’ and therefore more as an ‘authentic experience’ (Plate & Smelik, 2006, p. 26). You would be able to see time pass and you would be able to see the other visitors of the museum. In some sense such moving webcam images would enable you to experience the social sharing of memories of the Armenian genocide. But, the experience of sharing would not be mutual; the ‘real’ visitors do not experience to share their memories with you, because they are not aware of your presence. Secondly, the virtual museum could therefore be made more ‘real’ if you would be able to interact with on the one hand the visitors, and on the other hand the museum staff. Thirdly, it could have been made more real if you would have been able to hear and smell the same as do the visitors in the virtual museum, without having the opportunity to switch it off. And you would have to be able to buy books and other museum souvenirs.

Is this just a dream formed by merging my physical and virtual reality into one framework, or will there be some day that it really comes this far because the technological developments allow us to?

I’m looking at a list showing the number of people murdered or deported during the Armenian genocide in the “historical provinces of Armenia”, which is displayed on one of the museum walls.

Western Anatolia: 344,800
Cilicia and Northern Syria: 239,000
European Turkey: 31,000
Province of Trebizond: 58,390
In total: 673,190 individuals murdered or deported in this part of the region.

Horrific figures indeed, but as I try to grasp the magnitude of the event and to imagine the atrocities and bloodshed that must have occurred when whole schools were massacred and families were torn apart, my phone rings. I pick up and it’s my friend asking if I want to go out for a beer or two later this week. I happily agree to meet him, and after ending the phone call I switch on the coffee maker and grab a piece of bread. I turn on the radio and decide to get back to work after my lunch break. After first checking my e-mail, I return to my visit and the horrible, graphic pictures on the wall of the museum give the cold numbers on the opposite walls human faces…

Simply put: the virtual museum allows the visitor to tailor her own visit to a much greater degree than during a visit to the physical museum. A virtual guest has the freedom to manipulate and construct her own experience (cf. Grosz, 2001, p. 77). A member of the Armenian Diaspora in the United States, for example, may like to bake Armenian ‘gata’ (Գաթա, which is a traditional kind of sweet bread) while she visits the virtual museum in order to create a smell of ‘home’. Alternatively, she could switch on any music or background noise, or experience the virtual museum in complete and utter silence. Also, she can visit the museum whenever she likes, unbothered by opening times restrictions.

These ‘customizations’ can add to the experience or interfere with it (or have no effect whatsoever). This, of course, differs from individual to individual, but this customizability allows the visitor of the virtual museum to tailor her visit to her own preferences and current wishes in ways unimaginable in the physical museum (cf. Grosz, 2001, p. 79). Even the simple thought of going to the Tsitsernakaberd memorial complex while listening to an iPod seems very disrespectful (consider Inge’s description of the atmosphere there), let alone spreading your own favorite aroma or walking on the eternal flame. And these are just the physically possible customizations of one’s memorial visit – imagine the potential customization of being able to ‘fly’ anywhere and ‘teleport’ to different places.

To illustrate, I’ve created the following four Youtube clips of the virtual experience. Enable the annotations in the clip (they should be switched on by default) to read my additional comments in the clip itself.

This clip shows how the virtual museum allows for added maneuverability vis-a-vis the ‘physical’ museum in Yerevan, and the potential perspectives this adds to the experience (this is expanded upon in the following clips).

This video shows how the perspective can be changed into that of a ‘mouse’, while this would not be socially acceptable in the physical museum in Yerevan (nor would it be easy to perform physically).

Here, the perspective is be changed to that of a ‘bird’ (which is not a pre-programmed option, but a ‘creative’ way to interact with the virtual space). For some, such usage of the virtual museum may lend an added ‘emotional’ freedom of movement within the Tsitsernakaberd memorial complex.

Does this clip show disrespectful behavior in an otherwise ‘sacred’ site, or does it display a specific usage of this remediated space? As a ‘visitor’, I’m able to tailor my experience exactly the way I find it most appealing, so if that means acting visiting the museum upside-down and standing on the eternal flame in the memorial, I’m free to do that. Also, if your computer has speakers attached to it, you have probably noticed the music in this particular clip, which I added later. Most would deem such music ‘inappropriate’ for this particular setting, but it shows how a virtual guest can create a specific experience and set a certain mood.

When it comes to social restrictions/freedoms, I remember that, walking through the museum during our visit to Armenia, we were constantly watched by museum personnel. Pointing us in specific directions, telling us not to touch the glass of the display cases (because our ‘greasy’ fingers would smudge the impeccable surface), and watching our every move. I remember feeling ‘observed’ and ‘controlled’ by such a social situation, instilling a sense of being in a place of worship (much like being in a church, temple or mosque). When thinking about this experience now, in the light of my thoughts on the virtual museum, I think there are two important conclusions to be drawn. First, the virtual museum offers more than the physical museum offered. It offers freedom. Online, there’s nobody checking to see if I smudge the glass. If I want, I can look at one specific photograph for the whole day, and no one would get suspicious of my lingering at that spot. I can look at all the items at display in reverse order, I can run from place to place, or bump my head to all the walls and ceilings if that’s what I’d like to do, and not a soul would stop me. However, it is exactly this freedom of movement that also limits my experience.

I didn’t particularly enjoy the feeling of ‘being watched’ in the physical museum, and I didn’t care much for the obligatory visiting order and the fact that I couldn’t even point to interesting items on display without being afraid to touch (and stain) the glass. Nevertheless, it was – among other things – exactly this ‘ritual’ of visiting the museum that bestowed a sense of reverence upon the atmosphere. Had it not been for this specific social situation, the museum would have been simply a number of (somewhat eerie) rooms, which is why to me, the virtual museum more or less ‘feels’ like a computer game (see Uricchio, 2005). Inge will undoubtedly have more to say about what the physical museum has to offer in terms of being a social environment.