If there’s one question that has followed me since I began my research in Digital Humanities, it’s this:
After all, what is a virtual museum for?
Many people imagine it’s just an online exhibition — a digital tour with photos of a collection. But that’s not it. A virtual museum can be much more than a pretty website — it can be a space for reconstruction, listening, and reconnection with collective memory.
As Theodor Adorno once said, the traditional museum can sometimes become a “mausoleum”: a place where artworks are protected, but distanced from life. And I understand that. Very often, museum experiences are more about silence and contemplation than participation.
But what if it were different?
What if it were possible to create spaces where people could interact, contribute, reconstruct stories — and, most importantly, see themselves reflected?
Technology can help — but only with care and listening.
Using Virtual Reality, Artificial Intelligence, or 3D modeling isn’t about replacing history, but about offering new ways to access it. This is even more crucial when we talk about collections that have been erased, lost, or remain inaccessible.
Recently, someone told me:
“But why should I care about that? That’s something you want to know, not other people.”
That comment hurt me — but it also made me think.
So let me give you an example:
Imagine a real museum that holds a fundamental part of a nation’s history has about 70% of its collection destroyed in a fire. We’re not going to discuss the causes of the tragedy here. Months later, the same museum announces the display of rare pieces — never before shown to the public — and promises to reopen soon with a reconstructed, modernized building.
In this scenario, which narrative feels easier to accept?
– That the museum has been renewed, revitalized, and now offers a brand-new experience?
– Or that a significant portion of the collection was lost, and what we now see is only a fragment — a memory reconstruction effort based on what survived?
The real question is not whether others are interested or not.
The question is: To what extent are we willing to ignore what we’ve lost, without making any effort to preserve our memory?
And even more: How often do we stop telling a full story simply because it’s uncomfortable?
Virtual museums help us deal with this.
They are not substitutes for the real world, but tools to reconstitute narratives, preserve fragments, and create new paths for listening, learning, and connection.
During my research, I realized something that goes beyond technique:
There is a symbolic barrier between the fields of technology and the humanities.
A feeling of “this isn’t for me.”
Art historians and researchers often feel out of place in the digital world.
And computer scientists are rarely trained to think about heritage, memory, and cultural ethics.
But perhaps the most concerning thing isn’t even this disciplinary divide.
The most serious issue is realizing how, as a society, we still ignore the value of culture.
We still treat knowledge as something elitist, distant, or unnecessary.
Unfortunately, we cannot bring light to every mind.
But, as Leonardo da Vinci once said — in a quote that has stayed with me since childhood:
“Learning is the only thing the mind never fears, never exhausts, and never regrets.”
I sincerely wish that even the minds most closed off to the outside world, to others, may one day have the joy of truly learning — something that connects them with time, with people, with the beauty of a discovery.
If a virtual museum can be that doorway, then it has already been worth it.
To me, that’s what a virtual museum is:
A living place.
A place that listens, that connects, that allows us to recreate.
Because preserving culture is, at its core, an act of resistance.
And when the humanities and technologies listen to one another, that act becomes even more powerful — and even more necessary.
And what about me?
I’ll always be here to share everything I learn — as a researcher, as a student, and as a human being.
It doesn’t matter if, among a hundred, only one person stops to listen, reflect, or ask a question.
I will keep going.
