Honey, I Shrunk the House: How Miniatures of Historic House Museums Can Improve the Visitor Experience

By Ashley Vernon

While traveling the American South, there were two occasions when I was able to view a miniature version of the historic home we were visiting. The first of these was at the Bellamy Mansion in Wilmington, North Carolina, and the second was at the Museum of the Shenandoah Valley in Winchester, Virginia. After spending a few moments with each of these diminutive structures, I was struck by the ease with which I was able to understand the layout of (and by extension, the activities that normally occurred in) the interior spaces. This led to a deeper appreciation for how these houses became (miniature) homes. 

For instance, at the Museum of the Shenandoah Valley in the Glen Burnie House (originally built in 1793, then modified and lived in into the twentieth century), a miniature created by one of its occupants, R. Lee Taylor, provides a glimpse of how the space was used and furnished during the time of his residence. Signs of life appear in detail such as sheet music on the piano in the parlor, a man shaving in an upstairs bathroom, and miniature lights on chandeliers illuminating rooms such as the library and dining room. Plush rugs are seen around the house leading guests from room to room and up the staircases to lavishly decorated bedrooms accented in rich wooden and red tones. This attention to detail associates a warmth and a lived-in nature to the miniature version of the house.  

The current interpretation of the home leaves it sparsely furnished with only select first-floor rooms available for viewing with interpretive panels on the walls. In contrast, the miniature allows visitors to experience furnished versions of the first-floor rooms and those on other floors inaccessible to the public. This is especially helpful for communicating the original purpose of rooms that have since been renovated. Overall, miniature home models allow for a more complete encounter, as visitors may experience the entire home as the artist and owner intended for it to be seen.  

Similarly, the Bellamy Mansion (built 1859-61) offered a smaller-scale version of the exterior of the main house. Tucked into a garden located off the west side of the house, this miniature served as a reminder of scale to visitors. And while it may be easy to get swept away by the grandeur of this towering building, the miniature reminds visitors of the labor, borne by many hands, that it took to maintain the spectacular home and grounds. Placement of the miniature away from the controlled and decorated interiors shifts the focus so visitors can comprehend the immense toll exacted from human labor to build and keep up the site. The stories of those who were once enslaved at the site are told in the extant quarters that the miniature faces, and these histories now tower over interpretation, even as the physical structure of the main house was designed to tower over the quarters. The dichotomy between the buildings promotes a more inclusive interpretation, building a balance between the stories of all who resided on the site, rather than solely focusing on the wealthy white family who lived within the largest building.  

These miniature forms provide context to historic houses that allow visitors to experience the space with different perspectives. By allowing them to contemplate how a structure, while viewed as a singular object, interacts with the surrounding landscape. These miniatures introduce questions and inspire conversations that might not have existed without a broader view of the site. These include consideration of how one moved through and used the space, why specific rooms and entrances exist, and what we can determine from examining the exterior in tandem with the decor of the interior.