ON CURATING, CARE, RESEARCH, & WRITING
Negarra A. Kudumu
18 April 2018
The word curate comes from the Latin word curare, which means “to care for”. Care also implies guardianship and management. Historically, a museum curator’s role as caretaker, manager, and guardian has been displayed through scholarship, exhibition making, and preservation of the collection. It also includes the promotion of the collection through public programs, museum education, and loans to other museums for exhibitions. Traditionally, a museum curator has (at least) an MA in Art History, if not a PhD. It goes without saying this person would also be a specialist in their particular field. This brings me to the subject of Kristen Windmuller-Luna, who the Brooklyn Museum just hired as its curator of African Art.
Windmuller-Luna has an MA and PhD in art history from Princeton University. Moreover she is a specialist in African Art, and as her Princeton University online bio states, she is studied and trained in all areas of African Art. She has published and lectured on modern and contemporary African Art and architecture, but her specialty is African Art of the 16th century to late 18th century. As such, she would naturally be sought out by museums such as the ones she’s worked for—Metropolitan Museum of Art, Princeton University Art Museum, and now the Brooklyn Museum—all which maintain significant permanent collections of African art and objects from this period.
Art history, like so many other fields, is one that has been the exclusive domain of white curators for decades, and the world over. To date, with few exceptions, this is still primarily the case. As blacks and other people of color have begun to enter the field in significant numbers, it appears they’ve eschewed specialization in fields inclusive of pre-modern art, such as African Art (as it is categorized in Museum departments), opting instead for contemporary art. The reason for this, I believe, is two fold: wanting to relate to and engage with the current moment, and desiring a relatively higher frequency of exhibition making.
As intriguing and aesthetically appealing as pre-modern art is, it is the art of the past; in many cases, the distant past. For many people, it embodies a bunch of old, dusty objects. No one knows or cares how they got to the museum except for this small group of specialists who maintain a monopoly on the dialogue about said objects. They have no connection to the present and in many cases, they remind us of a past we either never learned about or wish to forget. With few exceptions, these objects are often presented in semi-permanent exhibitions that run for up to two years. In some cases, entire galleries are dedicated to significant portions of collections acquired by the Museum from wealthy donors who in agreeing to give over the collection, assert a mandate that it be on display for a certain amount of time, which can easily amount to decades.
Contemporary art is the art of our time, the art of now. The artists are often still alive, making work, and depending on their acclaim and/or commercial viability they are in high demand by collectors. The fact of their existence and the [presumably] prolific nature of their practices make many artists as intriguing as celebrity musicians and actors. The ability to see their art on social media in museums nationally and internationally adds to the intrigue and the trending cultural capital of the artist and their work. Additionally, and notably, in the late 20th and now the 21st century contemporary African Art, African-American Art, and African Diaspora is going viral, and is quite frankly some of the best work in contemporary art today. Who wouldn’t want to be associated with it!
I suspect part of the appeal for immersion in the contemporary is the ability to be a part of the canon that is being made, and thus in flux. There is room for rethinking and reinterpreting of modern and contemporary art because it is happening now. Art of the long past has been canonized and though there should be room for reinterpretation, it is hard to establish new narratives. Where there is, it seems to belong exclusively to the same group of people who rendered the original versions.
Understood in this way it is clearer now, though perhaps no less outraging, why the choice of the Brooklyn Museum was a white woman. Assuming any of her Princeton colleagues were black, I suspect their specializations were steered toward the modern and the contemporary. That would mean the application pool for this role was overwhelmingly, if not all, white. For those of you still unconvinced by the above stance, I urge you to research the careers of the notable African-American curators in the US, where they have worked, and which artists they have curated. After you’ve studied them, look for the curators of African descent working in Europe and examine their careers too. To aid your research, here are a few individuals whose careers are worth looking at - Okwui Enwezor, Thelma Golden, Naomi Beckwith, Jamillah James, Naima Keith, Amal Alhaag, Koyo Kouoh, Zoe Whitley, Franklin Sirmans, María Elena Ortiz, Marie-Ann Yemsi, N’Goné Fall, Erin Christovale. Let me know what you find.
More than anything else, this debacle got me to thinking about what constitutes curation—like really. Long before I had the notion of a career in the art world, when I was still employed by an international law think tank in The Hague, I frequented Tumblr. Circa 2009 and 2010, the word curation was thrown all over the place and largely, it had nothing to do with art. I was likely a latecomer to the commencement of this phenomenon, but when I finally noticed, I was intrigued. The word curation was used primarily as it related to content, but much of what I saw proclaimed as content curation was just aggregation—different kinds of content amassed into an index. If done well, it was categorized into to easily identified groupings; but rarely was any of it contextualized.
Fast forward to 2014, when I am squarely in the art world. I was not yet curating but I critically examined every exhibition I saw. I hoped to gain greater insight into how this seemingly mysterious task occurs within extremely opaque institutions. What I’ve witnessed is quite a bit more aggregation than significantly critical curation. For example, behemoth exhibitions often contain exquisite work diminished in the shadow of less compelling work by artists who are, or are working towards, art-world darling status. Or some exhibitions exist only to glorify the curator rather than elevate the work of the artist(s), reflected again in the accompanying exhibition catalog. Thankfully, I have also seen beautifully rendered shows—mostly solo or small group exhibitions—where the curation has succeeded in large part due to the artists or the unusually refined aesthetic sensibilities of the curator, which is also becoming increasingly uncommon.
What I am asserting is this: regardless of how a curator has been trained (I am not formally trained in art history or curatorial studies), their education, research, curatorial style, and critical contextualization should be evident in the exhibition and in the writing that accompanies it. I am also saying that if a person calls themselves a curator without the rigor of the practice I define, then curating is not what they are doing, regardless of the existence of their aggregation in the white cube and its many iterations. While the attributes I have outlined are not the only ones, they are the most notable in the curators I admire, many of whom I’ve mentioned by name above.
Because I’m acutely aware of my newness in this realm, and the ways in which my training is disparate from what is typical of curatorial training and practice, I tread carefully when referring to myself as a curator even with almost six exhibitions under my belt. It is with great care that I choose the projects I end up curating. Why? Well, why not? However, I believe any exhibition I take on should reflect to any extent possible, the impact the artist and their oeuvre is having in the world. I present that narrative visually. I contextualize it discursively by carefully crafting every piece of didactic that accompanies every work in the exhibition – be it wall text, labels, or the essay.
For all these reasons, I question whether I will continue to occupy this space in this way for the duration of my art world career. Some, with more experience than I, tell me my lens is necessary. There are some of my elders who just watch and occasionally give advice. For the meanwhile, I continue to examine curation via exhibitions, to write about art, to be in constant conversation with artists, and to be in constant engagement with the canons to which the artists I work with and study pertain.
Windmuller-Luna has an MA and PhD in art history from Princeton University. Moreover she is a specialist in African Art, and as her Princeton University online bio states, she is studied and trained in all areas of African Art. She has published and lectured on modern and contemporary African Art and architecture, but her specialty is African Art of the 16th century to late 18th century. As such, she would naturally be sought out by museums such as the ones she’s worked for—Metropolitan Museum of Art, Princeton University Art Museum, and now the Brooklyn Museum—all which maintain significant permanent collections of African art and objects from this period.
Art history, like so many other fields, is one that has been the exclusive domain of white curators for decades, and the world over. To date, with few exceptions, this is still primarily the case. As blacks and other people of color have begun to enter the field in significant numbers, it appears they’ve eschewed specialization in fields inclusive of pre-modern art, such as African Art (as it is categorized in Museum departments), opting instead for contemporary art. The reason for this, I believe, is two fold: wanting to relate to and engage with the current moment, and desiring a relatively higher frequency of exhibition making.
As intriguing and aesthetically appealing as pre-modern art is, it is the art of the past; in many cases, the distant past. For many people, it embodies a bunch of old, dusty objects. No one knows or cares how they got to the museum except for this small group of specialists who maintain a monopoly on the dialogue about said objects. They have no connection to the present and in many cases, they remind us of a past we either never learned about or wish to forget. With few exceptions, these objects are often presented in semi-permanent exhibitions that run for up to two years. In some cases, entire galleries are dedicated to significant portions of collections acquired by the Museum from wealthy donors who in agreeing to give over the collection, assert a mandate that it be on display for a certain amount of time, which can easily amount to decades.
Contemporary art is the art of our time, the art of now. The artists are often still alive, making work, and depending on their acclaim and/or commercial viability they are in high demand by collectors. The fact of their existence and the [presumably] prolific nature of their practices make many artists as intriguing as celebrity musicians and actors. The ability to see their art on social media in museums nationally and internationally adds to the intrigue and the trending cultural capital of the artist and their work. Additionally, and notably, in the late 20th and now the 21st century contemporary African Art, African-American Art, and African Diaspora is going viral, and is quite frankly some of the best work in contemporary art today. Who wouldn’t want to be associated with it!
I suspect part of the appeal for immersion in the contemporary is the ability to be a part of the canon that is being made, and thus in flux. There is room for rethinking and reinterpreting of modern and contemporary art because it is happening now. Art of the long past has been canonized and though there should be room for reinterpretation, it is hard to establish new narratives. Where there is, it seems to belong exclusively to the same group of people who rendered the original versions.
Understood in this way it is clearer now, though perhaps no less outraging, why the choice of the Brooklyn Museum was a white woman. Assuming any of her Princeton colleagues were black, I suspect their specializations were steered toward the modern and the contemporary. That would mean the application pool for this role was overwhelmingly, if not all, white. For those of you still unconvinced by the above stance, I urge you to research the careers of the notable African-American curators in the US, where they have worked, and which artists they have curated. After you’ve studied them, look for the curators of African descent working in Europe and examine their careers too. To aid your research, here are a few individuals whose careers are worth looking at - Okwui Enwezor, Thelma Golden, Naomi Beckwith, Jamillah James, Naima Keith, Amal Alhaag, Koyo Kouoh, Zoe Whitley, Franklin Sirmans, María Elena Ortiz, Marie-Ann Yemsi, N’Goné Fall, Erin Christovale. Let me know what you find.
More than anything else, this debacle got me to thinking about what constitutes curation—like really. Long before I had the notion of a career in the art world, when I was still employed by an international law think tank in The Hague, I frequented Tumblr. Circa 2009 and 2010, the word curation was thrown all over the place and largely, it had nothing to do with art. I was likely a latecomer to the commencement of this phenomenon, but when I finally noticed, I was intrigued. The word curation was used primarily as it related to content, but much of what I saw proclaimed as content curation was just aggregation—different kinds of content amassed into an index. If done well, it was categorized into to easily identified groupings; but rarely was any of it contextualized.
Fast forward to 2014, when I am squarely in the art world. I was not yet curating but I critically examined every exhibition I saw. I hoped to gain greater insight into how this seemingly mysterious task occurs within extremely opaque institutions. What I’ve witnessed is quite a bit more aggregation than significantly critical curation. For example, behemoth exhibitions often contain exquisite work diminished in the shadow of less compelling work by artists who are, or are working towards, art-world darling status. Or some exhibitions exist only to glorify the curator rather than elevate the work of the artist(s), reflected again in the accompanying exhibition catalog. Thankfully, I have also seen beautifully rendered shows—mostly solo or small group exhibitions—where the curation has succeeded in large part due to the artists or the unusually refined aesthetic sensibilities of the curator, which is also becoming increasingly uncommon.
What I am asserting is this: regardless of how a curator has been trained (I am not formally trained in art history or curatorial studies), their education, research, curatorial style, and critical contextualization should be evident in the exhibition and in the writing that accompanies it. I am also saying that if a person calls themselves a curator without the rigor of the practice I define, then curating is not what they are doing, regardless of the existence of their aggregation in the white cube and its many iterations. While the attributes I have outlined are not the only ones, they are the most notable in the curators I admire, many of whom I’ve mentioned by name above.
Because I’m acutely aware of my newness in this realm, and the ways in which my training is disparate from what is typical of curatorial training and practice, I tread carefully when referring to myself as a curator even with almost six exhibitions under my belt. It is with great care that I choose the projects I end up curating. Why? Well, why not? However, I believe any exhibition I take on should reflect to any extent possible, the impact the artist and their oeuvre is having in the world. I present that narrative visually. I contextualize it discursively by carefully crafting every piece of didactic that accompanies every work in the exhibition – be it wall text, labels, or the essay.
For all these reasons, I question whether I will continue to occupy this space in this way for the duration of my art world career. Some, with more experience than I, tell me my lens is necessary. There are some of my elders who just watch and occasionally give advice. For the meanwhile, I continue to examine curation via exhibitions, to write about art, to be in constant conversation with artists, and to be in constant engagement with the canons to which the artists I work with and study pertain.
The Heirophant and The Emperor, two cards illustrating deep study, research, authority in one's field, and leadership. These cards are from the Aquarian Tarot illustrated by David Palladini.
This essay is part one of a three-part series of writing produced during Negarra A. Kudumu's curatorial residency at Bridge Productions in which she discusses the key issues in her practice such as the education and curation as spectrum not a binary, curatoriality, and condition versus methodology particularly where African and African Diasporic cultural politics are concerned. To highlight and bring to bear these thought experiments, Negarra will curate From Fool to World, featuring new and existing works by the prolific multidisciplinary artist Mike Wagner.