Curatorial Activism: in the Gallery and the Streets
Artemisia - an overdue retrospective display of the artworks of Renaissance artist Artemisia Gentileschi - is the first-ever solo exhibition focussing on a historic female artist in the National Gallery’s history. Art historian Maura Reilly would deem this an act of ‘curatorial activism’; that is, an exhibition curated without excluding constituencies of artists traditionally excluded from the master narratives of art.
Bringing women, artists of colour, non-Euro-Americans, disabled and LGBTQ+ artists into the mix, as either subject or object, should be an essential consideration for all major visual arts institutions, and Reilly has done well to articulate this in her writing. I believe her work is so crucial, in fact, that it is not only upon the walls of our galleries that curatorial activism should be carried out. Our city centres, laced with historic symbols - statues, monuments, and memorials need ethical curation. What has begun with the formidable Artemisia must permeate further. Our towns and cities should represent the diversity of the society that exists within it; it is only with curatorial activism that this can be achieved.
However, whilst we should celebrate the advancements made in the programming of exhibitions such as Artemisia, gallery institutions continue to make errors in their curatorial decisions. In Summer 2020, the mural painted across the Tate Britain’s Rex Whistler restaurant came under scrutiny for its racist imagery. The work, commissioned in the 1920s, makes explicit reference to colonialism: one segment depicts a young black boy enchained to a horse and cart by his neck.
As part of the Grade I-listed historic interior, the walls of the gallery hold special architectural or historic interest. Under this sanction the mural, in spite of its racist and discriminatory contents, cannot be masked, erased, or re-rendered. But at what cost must we protect these features of historic architecture? The implications of a high-class restaurant (used primarily by an older white demographic) being installed with art of this horrific nature are alarming. The continued exhibition of such imagery further begs the question - to what extent can we effectively initiate curatorial activism whilst these stains of oppression remain?
Indeed, these markers of colonial oppression exist far beyond the walls of art galleries such as the Tate Britain. Many western countries that profited from imperialism boast physical markers of their oppressive past – often, it is evidenced in the statues, streets, and civic buildings that construct a city’s architectural landscape. As a society, we cannot leave this unacknowledged.
Nonetheless, these urban landscapes, bruised with reminders of discrimination and oppression, are too the familiar spaces we call home. Quite easily, one can go to school or work in a building named after a prolific leader or social figure, without thinking twice about the ethics that surround their achievements. Next, we may sit for a lunch break beneath the statue of a dignitary of days gone by with no consideration for the origins of their wealth. We may pause en route home to take in the vast view of the cityscape, with little thought to the hands that may have built it. Existing in a certain place for long enough promotes a feeling of familiarity. So much so, that the eyes and mind become blind to the historical and cultural significance of such places. We become at ease with the spaces we inhabit, we accept them, and we forget to truly see them.
The collective blindness towards the narratives stitched into the urban landscape is not chronic, however. Minds and eyes are opening. Public concern at the decoration of the built environment has prompted physical action. Bristol’s statue of Edward Colston (a man who, in imperial Britain, made his wealth through the exploitation of black slaves), was pulled from its plinth by the hands of Black Lives Matter protestors. Recalling the landmark 2018 student protest against the Cecil Rhodes statue that once stood on the grounds of the University of Cape Town, unrest surrounding the looming legacy of these oppressive figures is ongoing.
There is not unanimous support for protests of this kind, however. In England, civic objections to the toppling of Colston’s statue have materialised in the implementation of new, protective laws for public monuments. Attacks “on a whim, [by] town hall militants and woke worthies or at the behest of a baying mob” must have legal consequence, states Communities Secretary Robert Jerrick. Jerrick’s words characterise protestors offensively, reducing individuals involved to unruly troublemakers, spurred by little more than the exhilaration of committing a public nuisance.
However, Jerrick’s assertion forgets the decades of peaceful efforts that consistently precede these practical protests: calls to reconsider the position of Colston in Bristol’s city centre had been made for some 20 years prior to the public toppling in 2020. In South Africa, Afrikaans students first demanded the removal of the Cecil Rhodes statue in the 1950s. It was only in 2015 – 50 years later - that these demands were met. Robert Jerrick states a desire to take a "considered approach". Any assurance that this “considered approach” will make change with any efficiency is unfounded given the foregoing evidence. Curatorial activism of urban landscapes, architecture, and monuments is yet to be prioritised by local governments – violent protest occurs as a consequence of this frustration, not the whims of a “baying mob”.
In Bristol, Colston’s empty plinth, no longer belonging to his bronze cast figure, has been claimed by the people of the city, with guerrilla artworks appearing sporadically in the months following Colston’s demise. From a Darth Vader statuette (a commemorative tribute to Star Wars actor David Prowse, after his death in November 2020) to Marc Quinn’s statue of BLM protestor Jen Reid; an informal, publicly-governed Fourth Plinth seems to have been cultivated. In a city where the local government left Colston’s oppressive figure looming for so long, it feels apt for this space to now be left open for topical installations planted by local people. Indeed, it represents the people’s desire to have input into how their built environment is decorated, and a need for curatorial activism that considers the community as part of its process.
Care must be taken not to consider this an issue entirely rooted in the past. This is absolutely a predicament of the future - how we curate our landscapes, from street names to statues, writes a society’s narrative. The built environment is a medium for making sense of the world and our place within it, and for expressing and exploring personal values like belonging, livelihood, memory, and future prospects. It is not enough to deconstruct and replace errors of the past - we must now use curatorial activism to organise public spaces of the future. Yinka Shonibare’s statue of David Oluwale, planned in collaboration with Leeds City Council, cements a legacy for the Nigerian, who drowned in the 1960s after harassment by Leeds police. It is these kinds of actions that promote inclusion and celebrate multiculturality. Following Shonibare’s proposal, can we now see commitments to public representations of women, disabled, LGBTQ+, and all those who exist at intersections of oppression? However, local governments must drive these changes beyond overt reparative gestures such as Shonibare’s statue. Even the words and namesakes embossed into the sheet aluminium that signpost our streets, buildings, and green spaces must be given consideration - we are working tokenistically if not.
Artemisia Gentileschi painted the majority of her artworks during the 17th century. Despite her striking portfolio and undoubtable skill, four centuries passed before she was given proper focus in mainstream visual arts. This prolonged erasure is an injustice that should not be repeated. With this in mind, as we step out of the art gallery and into the street, we must carry the method of ethical curation with us, and invest into building diversity in all public spaces.
Written by Lucy Rose