This week in the arts
Ella Nixon explores curatorial anxiety and the public accountability of galleries and museums
The old saying, ‘If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all’, is slowly becoming the restrictive precedential motto of the museum sector.
Anxiety about what a gallery should and should not display continues to affect the Fitzwilliam Museum (University of Cambridge) following the Black Lives Matter protests of 2020. An article in the Telegraph published this week illuminates the reinterpretation and subsequent hushed removal of the painting Love Among the Nations (1935-36) by British artist Stanley Spencer in regard to these discourses.
As the article reports, the painting by Spencer — depicting free love between figures of different ethnicities — was explained in its revised label to be “powerfully shaped by his own ignorance”, with a resultant “series of racist caricatures”. The interpretation concluded by asking, “What should happen to pictures that contain offensive racial stereotypes given their connection to the real suffering of generations of colonised and enslaved subjects?” The question mark does little to suggest the existence of an alternative answer.
The painting was eventually removed from public display at the Fitzwilliam after six months wearing its revised label. The hushed removal obfuscates any certain conclusion being drawn as to exactly why the decision was taken, but one can assume that both the original and revised labels were deemed insufficient to justify its “unquestioned racism”. In the meantime, institutional accountability was glossed over, and there are no plans for the painting’s return despite its prior eleven-year display.
No doubt, for curators at the Fitzwilliam who had undergone years of training and research, walking past the grossly distorted interpretation on a regular basis must have been painful. In this context, rather than risk morally ‘reprehensible’ answers — including the possibility that the painting may actually celebrate human unity in accordance with Spencer’s own reputation “as a deeply Christian artist influenced by ideas of free love” — the curatorial staff crossed their fingers in the hope of a silent funeral.
This kerfuffle speaks to a wider climate of curatorial anxiety. Fear of offence can facilitate the omission of potentially ‘problematic’ artworks. Although the University of Cambridge responded to BLM by declaring the need to “speak to today’s audiences”, silence has ultimately resulted and stifled hopes for reconciliation.
Iain McGilchrist, the neuroscientist and philosopher, describes how “we take the success we have in manipulating [the world] as proof that we understand it”. The role of public art galleries in democratic societies should be to enhance rather than manipulate the tapestry of life with visual perspectives. Artworks are timeless source materials to provoke questions from within — not imposed on — the viewer. By extension, short-term political aggrandising contrary to artistic intention implies that original noble efforts are futile, so why bother trying? A dire message indeed for society.
In this climate of curatorial anxiety, we need to critically reassess the role of the public art gallery in a democratic society. Informative to this end is the Hylas and the Nymphs (1896) debacle at Manchester Art Gallery in 2018. The painting by John William Waterhouse depicting naked young women in illustration of the Greek myth was removed by artist Sonia Boyce to raise questions pertaining to “how the politics of gender, race and sexuality in the gallery’s 18th- and 19th-century painting displays can be reconsidered for display”. Public furore ensued. Many voices contributed their angry responses to a message board on the gallery website, furious that the painting had been removed to make a point in relation to #MeToo.
Interestingly — and at great frustration to my thesis research — the message board has now been removed from the gallery website, despite providing a fascinating example of democracy in practice. In any case, the memory remains an example of the public taking responsibility to demand the return of a beloved painting. Sure enough, Manchester City Council recognised this sentiment (“It’s been clear that many people feel very strongly about the issues raised”), and the painting returned earlier than planned to its rightful place.
Curators are stuck in a difficult position. The disproportionate demands of certain loud-mouthed individuals distort perceptions of public duty. Since the 1970s with the rise of New Museology — the movement to increase accessibility within galleries —museum audiences have been a significant focal point. It was recognised that museums in the past had been elitist and obsolete: “a waste of public money”. Thus, museums became more ‘public’ focused: a brilliant move to widen visitor demographics.
However, adjunct to this academic movement, Foucauldian-inspired theories were forwarded based on the ‘civilising’ role of museums to control populations. These darker interpretations frame the function of museums in terms of power. Within this formulation, curators are discriminating voices of authority who benefit by silencing some groups and elevating others. Vulnerable to attack and already contending with scarce public funds and job opportunities, it is easy to understand why curators sometimes resort to removing certain artworks rather than putting their neck on the line.
The responsibility, therefore, lies with us the public, to protect public collections from knee-jerk responses. The Manchester case study is a wonderful illustration of how institutions can be made accountable. Likewise, we should be thankful to independent curator and arts consultant Manick Govinda, who highlighted the removal of Love Among the Nations at the Fitzwilliam Museum to the Free Speech Union.
It is possible for museums to be sensitive without capitulating to unforgiving trends which seek to distort history for instant gratification. We must humbly reassert our rights as the public to tongue-tied curators so that they can be relieved from anxiety, confident in their own professional practice. As a result, curators can avoid the worst-case scenario: the unaccountable silencing of public property under partisan prejudice.
Great piece, but not sure 'curatorial anxiety' is the right framing. Isn't it more like curatorial moral certainty? I don't see anxiety or ambivalence.