Inclusive Curating in Contemporary Art: A Practical Guide 9781641892650

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COLLECTION DEVELOPMENT, CULTURAL HERITAGE, AND DIGITAL HUMANITIES

This exciting series publishes both monographs and edited thematic collections in the broad areas of cultural heritage, digital humanities, collecting and collections, public history and allied areas of applied humanities. The aim is to illustrate the impact of humanities research and in particular reflect the exciting new networks developing between researchers and the cultural sector, including archives, libraries and museums, media and the arts, cultural memory and heritage institutions, festivals and tourism, and public history.

INCLUSIVE CURATING IN CONTEMPORARY ART A PRACTICAL GUIDE

by

JADE FRENCH

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. © 2020, Arc Humanities Press, Leeds

The authors assert their moral right to be identified as the authors of their part of this work.

Permission to use brief excerpts from this work in scholarly and educational works is hereby granted provided that the source is acknowledged. Any use of material in this work that is an exception or limitation covered by Article 5 of the European Union’s Copyright Directive (2001/29/EC) or would be determined to be “fair use” under Section 107 of the U.S. Copyright Act September 2010 Page 2 or that satisfies the conditions specified in Section 108 of the U.S. Copy­ right Act (17 USC §108, as revised by P.L. 94-553) does not require the Publisher’s permission.

ISBN: 9781641892643 e-ISBN: 9781641892650 www.arc-humanities.org Printed and bound in the UK (by Lightning Source), USA (by Bookmasters), and elsewhere using print-on-demand technology.

CONTENTS

List of Illustrations. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . vii

Acknowledgements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ix

Preface . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xi

Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1

Chapter 1: Facilitating Research . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 Chapter 2: Finding the “Big Idea” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41 Chapter 3: Acquiring Artwork. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59 Chapter 4: Developing Interpretation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77 Chapter 5: Installation and Exhibition. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 97

Bibliography. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 113

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Figure 1: Auto Agents exhibition at Bluecoat, 2017 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20

Tool 1: Access Checklist . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27 Figure 2: Facilitating Engage­ment Framework, illustration by Emma Curd . . . . . . . . . . 29

Figure 3: Eddie’s sketchbook, 2016 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32 Tool 2: Community Mapping Activity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37 Tool 3: Jigsaw Skills . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38 Tool 4: One-Page Profiles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38 Figure 4: Leah’s One-Page Profile, 2016 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 Figure 5: Example of Adapted PATH . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45 Tool 5: PATH . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47 Figure 6: Auto Agents zine, 2016 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50 Figure 7: Hannah’s artwork exploring autonomy with close-up detail, 2016 . . . . . . . . . 55 Figure 8: “Autonomous Agents” collage by inclusive curators, 2016 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57 Figure 9: Workshop with Mark Simmonds exploring Bluecoat’s library, 2016 . . . . . . . 62 Tool 6: Artist Interview Template . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65 Figure 10: “Auto Agent Bob”: an activity to explore authorship, 2016 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73 Tool 7: Whose Job? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75 Tool 8: Decision-Making Agreements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 76 Tool 9: Equity Compass . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81 Figure 11: Auto Agents interpretation film installed at Bluecoat, 2016 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91 Figure 12: Auto Agents “drawing tours,” 2017 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93

Figure 13: Model of gallery by curators, 2016 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 100 Tool 10: Six Thinking Hats . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 106

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS This book has grown out of a number of collaborative projects and studies. I would like to begin by expressing my profound gratitude to the many people whom have contributed and participated in these over the years. I have learnt so much from so many people. First and foremost, I would like to thank the fantastic team that made the inclusively curated exhibition Auto Agents possible, which much of this book’s research is based. Monumental thanks for their generous insight, hard work, and unwavering commitment during this project to the inclusive curators Hannah Bellass, Tony Carroll, Diana ­Disley, Leah Jones, and Eddie Rauer; the artists James Harper, Mark Simmonds and Alaena Turner; and support staff Abi Burrows and Donna Bellass. They attended over a year’s worth of weekly workshops and meetings with such enthusiasm. I am also forever grateful to the to the staff from the partner organizations Halton Speak Out and Bluecoat, particularly Mal Hampson and Bec Fearon, who contributed their valuable time, counsel, and generously welcomed me and my ideas in to disrupt their places of work. Thank you all for supporting me to share our journey so candidly. This book is for all of you. Enormous thanks to Helen Graham, Associate Professor in the School of Fine Art, History of Art and Cultural Studies at the University of Leeds, for your generous support from supervising my PhD to producing this book. A phenomenal mentor, our conversations and collaborations have sharpened my work immeasurably. I can’t thank you enough. Huge thanks to Emma Curd. This book would not have been possible without your excellent notes and words of encouragement. Thank you for producing the wonderful illustrations and keeping me company during library marathons and the “I can’t do this” moments. This book would also not have been carried out without financial support and investment. A big thank you to the UK Arts and Humanities Research Council for selecting my research for scholarship, to Arts Council England for contributing to the Auto Agents’ exhibition costs, and the White Rose College of Arts and Humanities who have enabled me to attend a range of training and international conferences to refine and disseminate my research. Thank you to Bluecoat for investing space, time and resources and providing an ideal context for the inclusive curating project and exhibition. I am so grateful for the experiences and learning all of these contributions have afforded me. Thank you to acquisitions editor Danièle Cybulskie, press director Simon Forde, and the wider team at Arc Humanities Press for their editorial input and guidance during writing my first book. It has been a wonderful, supportive experience and an absolute pleasure to work with you all. Finally, to my wonderful family who have fiercely cheered me along—thank you.

PREFACE My journey to writing this book began in 2010 in the unlikely surroundings of the offices of Mencap, a British charity that supports intellectually-disabled people. I had been working with Mencap as part of my job at a small community theatre in London, and during that time I met Barbara, a woman with intellectual disabilities who was also a keen visual artist. After meeting one day by chance Barbara asked if she could show me some of her artwork to which I happily agreed. Barbara carefully unwrapped her artworks and leant them against the office’s lavender painted walls. She pointed towards an azure blue mono-print of a bird and explained; “I had one just like this shown at the Outsider Art Fair.” “Wow” I replied, “That’s an amazing achievement.” The Outsider Art Fair is considered the premier event for self-taught artists, taking place in plush venues across Paris and New York annually; it’s a big deal. She did not, however, seem as pleased. I learnt that Barbara, along with many intellectually-disabled artists I have since encountered, had not been included in the decision to exhibit her work or had a say in how her work was presented, interpreted, and mediated to the public. She had not been supported to attend the exhibition where her work was displayed or had even seen pictures. How could this happen? I was unnerved and perplexed. For me, this experience marks a pivotal point in my practice. It ignited an interest in devising ways to support intellectually-disabled artists to have autonomy in how their work was made and exhibited. Soon after in 2011 I enrolled on a postgraduate degree at the University of Brighton. Here I began to research curating with intellectually-disabled people resulting in the pop-up arts festival The Dugout (2013) in London’s Hoxton Arches. Later in 2014, I was awarded a Collaborative Doctoral Award from the Arts and Humanities Research Council to undertake PhD research at the University of Leeds with self-advocacy group Halton Speak Out and Bluecoat’s inclusive arts project Blue Room resulting in the exhibition Auto Agents: further developing this research. Much of what lies within these pages has seeds within these initial projects. But although my interests in inclusive curating began with the aim of increasing artistic autonomy for intellectually-disabled artists, it quickly became apparent that this work could be applied more broadly and be useful to others working in the museum sector. I have therefore written this book with the hope of providing greater utility and application of this original work. By doing this, I hope to contribute not just an inclusive curatorial process but also broaden the ways in which curating (and crucially the curator) is defined.

INTRODUCTION “SO, WHAT IS A CURATOR ANYWAY?” A monumental question asked so casually, and at that particular moment, I had no answer. This fleeting exchange with inclusive curator Eddie during our first curatorial meeting remains a memorable one.1 It cuts to the heart of a key question concerning the practice of inclusive curating: what does a curator actually do? A century ago the role of a curator conjured an image of a singular figure in a museum’s basement: tending, caring, and cataloguing collections and artefacts. Yet over recent decades curating has moved beyond any singular definition and now occupies a much broader scope of activities, practices, and professions. The modern-day curator is not only a carer and preserver of cultural heritage, they are influential selectors, interpreters, commissioners, activists, artists, and tastemakers. The curator, once a behindthe-scenes caring figure who “tended” ground, has evolved to one who actively secures, organizes, and landscapes it; becoming the culturally central figure we know today.2 But despite significant transformation, curating has an enduring reputation as an exclusive job for a privileged few. The curator’s status as a powerful “expert” and “gatekeeper” persists, with art critic David Sylvester claiming that the most important people in the cultural world are not artists but in fact curators, “the true brokers of the art world.”3 Curators have risen to such prominence particularly within contemporary art, with some gaining almost celebrity-like status, because of their increased importance in mediating between institutions, artists, the academy, market forces, and crucially, publics.4 Alongside this evolution of the curator, recent decades have also witnessed a radical re-examination of the museum’s role, purpose, and responsibility in society. Traditional concepts of what a museum is and how it should operate have been met with new intellectual, social, and political concerns regarding the legitimacy of specialized knowledge, bias in collecting and display, and the museum’s civic purpose.5 Museums have therefore become increasingly aware of reflecting in both exhibitions and collections the voices of communities in more respectful and equitable ways,6 moving towards more collaborative and participatory approaches to exhibition making.7 For many museum practitioners, including communities in curating has become an accepted, if not necessary, way of creating exhibitions. Numerous labels have emerged 1  French, “Art as Advocacy,” 52.

2  Balzer, Curationism, 40.

3  Millard, The Tastemakers, 108.

4  Sheikh, “The Trouble with Institutions.” 5  Pearce, “General Preface to Series,” 1.

6  Sandell et al., ed., Re-Presenting Disability.

7  Golding, Museums and Communities: Curators, Collections and Collaboration.

2

Introduction

to describe a range of approaches: “community curation,”8 “coproduction,”9 “constituent curator,”10 “team approach,”11 “external party,”12 “collaborative curation,”13 and “public curation”14 to name but a few. In her book The Participatory Museum, Nina Simon also identifies categories that aim to articulate the varying approaches to how museums enable communities to participate:15 which are differentiated according to where the power to define projects and the capacity to make decisions resides.16 Her category “cocreation” happens when communities and the museum work together from “the beginning to define the project’s goals, and generate the programme or exhibition based on the community’s interests,”17 crucially, it is about the community’s agendas. This may seem like a fairly straightforward definition, yet co-creation remains an area of museum work that is fraught with a myriad of practical and ethical difficulties.18 Academic and museum professional Bernadette Lynch, for example, has drawn attention to how such participatory models in museums often position communities, sometimes unknowingly, not as equal partners but as beneficiaries of the museum’s “generosity’.19 What is clear is that more robust models of inclusive and participatory approaches to curating which are able to support a greater emphasis on shared curatorial authority are required. Although discussion concerning community involvement in curating is present in museum literature, as well as amongst museum practitioners and communities themselves, gaps exist in understanding process and facilitation. This is where this book contributes. If “co-creation” has been acknowledged as a category by which to define a particular type of community participation in museums, then inclusive curating is a process by which to “do it”; recognizing the intimate relationship between not only what but how work is done.20

What is Inclusive Curating? Who is an Inclusive Curator?

The process of inclusive curating shared in this book emerged by bringing together my artistic practice and experience of working with intellectually-disabled people through self-advocacy work and person-centred planning. Drawing on my experience as an 8  Schwartz and Adair, “Community as Curator.”

9  Graham, “The ‘co’ in Co-Production.”

10  Byrne et al., The Constituent Museum. 11  Doering, The Making of Exhibitions.

12  Davies, “The Co-Production of Temporary Museum Exhibitions.”

13  Golding, Museums and Communities: Curators, Collections and Collaboration. 14  Satwicz and Morrissey, “Public Curation.” 15  Simon, The Participatory Museum, 180. 16  Govier, “Leaders in co-creation?,” 3.

17  Simon, The Participatory Museum, 187.

18  Helguera, Education for Socially Engaged Art.

19  Lynch, “Collaboration, Contestation, and Creative Conflict.” 20  Janes, Museums and the Paradox of Change, 353.



Introduction

3

inclusive artist, the prefix of “inclusive” also helpfully intersects with definitions of “inclusive arts practice”21 in that a key marker of this work is facilitation and collaboration.22 With this in mind, inclusive curating is an applied process that works to demystify curating by breaking down curatorial tasks and decisions to enable more people to express their exhibition ideas as critical inclusive curators. Rather than a traditional curatorial model whereby a “professional” curator produces an exhibition, alternatively, inclusive curating is a process that empowers community groups to curate exhibitions with the guidance of a facilitator. From this perspective, inclusive curating relates to three basic questions: first, what are the curatorial tasks, second: how do the individuals involved work together, third: how are decisions made? While museums have a history of including communities in the curation of exhibitions across art,23 science,24 anthropology,25 history, and heritage,26 the quality of such collaborations vary. Museums often approach communities with an exhibition subject already in place,27 revealing a presumption on the part of the museum that they are the expert.28 Equally, many collaborations between communities and museums are typically short-term and project-driven, meaning that they are designed to achieve a “particular objective normally within a very short period of time.”29 Such fragmented approaches do little to challenge systemic inequalities within museums; rather, they reproduce hierarchies and maintain a status quo allowing inequalities to remain overlooked.30 In contrast, inclusive curating is “slow curating,”31 with inclusive curatorial projects taking several years on average to complete. Quality collaborations require time and only through sustained partnership and embeddedness can institutional legacy be created. This is a sizeable commitment for all parties. However, for communities to authentically define the agenda of the exhibition, its curatorial approach, and work through a process of sharing authority and expertise, time is an essential ingredient. But first, what do we even mean by a museum’s “community”? Who is this mysterious and desirable group with whom museums wish to connect, and potentially, empower as curators? At its worst, the term “community” is used as a blanket label 21  A field of artistic practice describing the creative collaborations between intellectually-disabled and non-intellectually-disabled artists. 22  Fox and Macpherson, Inclusive Arts Practice and Research.

23  Byrne et al., The Constituent Museum.

24  Bunning et al., “Embedding Plurality.”

25  Peers and Brown, Museums and Source Communities.

26  Golding, Museums and Communities: Curators, Collections and Collaboration.

27  Hooper-Greenhill, Museums and the Interpretation of Visual Culture. 28  Maranda, “The Voice of the Other,” 63.

29  Mutibwa, Hess, and Jackson, “Strokes of Serendipity,” 2. 30  Rooke, Cultural Value: Curating Community?, 4. 31  Johnston, “Slow Curating,” 25.

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Introduction

that obfuscates a number of minority groups32 and is seen to express a coded language.33 Nonreflexive notions of “community” can also unhelpfully work to construct, fix, and divide people into seemingly homogenous groups, reinforcing what Waterton and Smith describe as “presumed differences between white, middle classes and ‘the rest,’ as well as between museum experts and ‘everybody else.’”34 In this book, the term community is used to describe any group of like-minded people united by a common cause who are not typically a part of the museum’s permanent staff. It is a frame of reference that coalesces more broadly around shared interests or collective experiences, recognizing what many sociologists have claimed: communities are an incomplete process through which people continually construct, reconstruct, and create identities, whether geographically, virtually or imaginatively.35 Communities are more often social creations that are continuously in motion, rather than fixed entities or descriptions. It is through breaking down these ideas of communities, expertise, and collaboration that important questions emerge. Can curating ever be inclusive, when it is a practice largely based on selection and decision making? How do we make decisions collectively without diminishing accountability? What is the capacity of inclusive curatorial teams to influence museum practice and policy in a meaningful way? How might we address the perceived credibility of including “non-curators” in museums? Addressing these questions tends to generate new theories of what museums are and will involve major changes for the both the museum and discipline of curating: from inward to outward looking, from individual to collective, from reactive to proactive, from a singular voice to platforming multiple perspectives.

Why Curate Inclusively?

It is important to remember that curatorial practice in contemporary art has always sought to “extend boundaries,”36 to innovate, and to test limits. Curatorial practice is less about orthodoxy and more a place for invention and experimentation.37 It is essential to continue to expand our definitions of curating, and more importantly who we think of as potential curators. Curating plays a key role in how our shared culture is constructed, portrayed, and legitimized. There is no neutral position and exhibition-makers continue to face choices concerning the ways in which they develop narratives.38 This view spearheaded the famed 2017 #MuseumsAreNotNeutral campaign created by museum professionals Mike Murawski and LaTanya Autry which set out to refute the myth of neutrality that many 32  Ahmed and Fortier, “Re-Imagining Communities.”

33  Kinsley et al., “(Re)Frame,” 58.

34  Waterton and Smith, “The Recognition and Misrecognition of Community Heritage,” 5. 35  Neal and Walters, “Rural Be/Longing and Rural Social Organisations,” 237. 36  George, The Curator’s Handbook, 27. 37  Ibid., 37.

38  Sandell, Museums, Prejudice and the Reframing of Difference, 195.



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5

museum professionals and others put forward.39 Yet, despite this increasing recognition of the museum as both non-neutral and active in shaping the way we perceive, think, and act, studies reveal that significant underrepresentation of people from diverse backgrounds remains40 in curatorial roles across disability, ethnicity, class, gender, health, race, religion, socioeconomic status, and sexuality.41 Greater levels of public participation in curating is just one response to the evolving roles of museums in a postmodern, multicultural society. Inclusive curating, and the process shared within this book, is therefore intended to offer applied solutions in enabling a wider range of people to express themselves through curating. As a result, museums and museum professionals can advance their oft-stated goals of promoting representation and diversity.42 Inclusive curating also has potential to enable museums to more fully embrace the opportunity to be allies with communities. “Ally practice,” writes exhibition designer Xander Karkruff, is a “framework that museum professionals can use to transform inclusive ideals into concrete actions.”43 Echoing ambitions of what museum scholar Richard Sandell describes as “activist museum practices” whereby museums actively work to address social injustices, crises, and inequalities.44 Museums have progressively experimented with curatorial practices that aim to critique and disrupt previously unquestioned exhibition and collection narratives and disciplinary knowledges. This territory is loaded with ethical pitfalls which a number of researchers45 and curators46 have sought to examine and, in the book Museum Activism,47 I further examine inclusive curating as a potential activist practice. Yet what is clear is that museums must continue to examine and debate the language of “community,” “inclusion,” and “activism,” in light of real and valid questions of ethics, power, and control. Museums cannot continue, as Lynch describes, “to play the role of gatekeeper allowing access” and instead must enter into genuine creative partnerships between people in and out of the museum, to mutual benefit.48 The richness of culture comes not just from its consumption. Richness comes from a broad range of people actively making and remaking culture;49 this is in the same sense that academic Carol Rose describes culture as something that enriches rather than depletes the more people participate in or “use” it.50 Too, as the role of curator continues to shift away from that of exclusively being a “gatekeeper,” communities can begin to have 39  Autry, “Changing the Things I Cannot Accept,” unpag.

40  Museums Association, Power and Privilege in the 21st Century Museum, 3. 41  BOP Consulting, “Character Matters,” 12. 42  Brook et al., “Panic!”

43  Karkruff, “Queer Matters,” 46.

44  Sandell et al., ed., Re-Presenting Disability, 3.

45  Sandell and Nightingale, Museums, Equality and Social Justice.

46  Reilly, Curatorial Activism.

47  French, “Auto Agents.”

48  Lynch, “If the Museum is the Gateway, Who is the Gatekeeper?,” 10. 49  Lessig, “Re-crafting a Public Domain,” 181. 50  Rose, “The Comedy of the Commons.”

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a more prominent voice within museums, creating opportunities to unlock enriching exhibitions, projects, collections, and campaigns. Partnerships and community collaboration remains a useful source of new energy, new ideas, and new museum meanings.51 By bringing together diverse communities with different knowledge, experience, and “personal contexts”52 to curate, inclusive curating aims to generate a plurality of perspectives within the museum presenting a wider scope for rich interpretive opportunities. That is not to say inclusive curating is a utopian solution for museums, but merely one tool by which we might address questions of inclusion, representation, and democracy. On the contrary, inclusive curating is messy. Tension between the inclusive curators, artists, and the museum will inevitably arise and those who wish to practise inclusive curating must be willing to embrace “passion and partisanship” which political theorist Chantal Mouffe emphasizes is essential in democratic social exchanges.53 Also, Associate Professor of Museum Ethics Janet Marstine contends: “contemporary museum ethics is not a canon of ideas based on consensus” but rather “marked by differences in opinion from diverse contributors.”54 By acknowledging the contested nature of art and the myth of museum neutrality, conflict can in fact be a constructive process that presents avenues to develop equitable and sustainable partnerships.55 The challenge is neither to eliminate nor gloss over contention or “messiness” brought to light through inclusive curating, it is to mobilize it for democratic ends by practising a process of nonconsensus. Admittedly, this is easier said than done, but the approach set out in this book makes space for conflicting views and such moments of tension are shared and discussed throughout the cases studies.

The Structure of this Book

This book is structured via six chapters. Following this introduction, the next five chapters describe the five-step process of inclusive curating: Facilitating Research; Finding the “Big Idea”; Acquiring Artwork; Developing Interpretation; Installation and Exhibition. Each of these chapters contains an outline of the process and key ideas alongside case studies taken from the inclusively curated exhibition Auto Agents to illuminate the process in action. Additionally, each chapter includes practical resources. The tools and activities have been designed to tackle inclusive curatorial tasks; group discussion, decision making, recruitment, planning, or reflection, as discussed throughout the book. That said, tools and templates are “blunt instruments”56 and are best used when adapted to specifically fit both the project and participants; I happily invite readers to adapt these accordingly. 51  Jenkinson, “Museum Futures,” 53.

52  Klobe, Exhibitions, 69.

53  Mouffe, On the Political, 2.

54  Marstine, The Routledge Companion to Museum Ethics, 6. 55  Fouseki, “Community Voices, Curatorial Choices,” 189.

56  Belfiore and Bennett, “Beyond the ‘Toolkit Approach’,” 122.



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This introductory chapter presents an overview of the curator’s changing role and remit to provide context around inclusive curating and its emergence. This includes a historic review of the curator’s role from its origins in the fifteenth century and the “Wunderkammer,” to the rise of group exhibitions in the nineteenth century, to the curator as artist in the late twentieth century. Throughout key concerns are highlighted: namely the curator’s reputation for being a powerful “gatekeeper” and “expert” and curating in relation to autonomy and authorship. This chapter also introduces the facilitator: the role central to enabling inclusive curating and concludes by introducing this book’s case study, the exhibition Auto Agents (2016) at Bluecoat, Liverpool’s centre for contemporary arts. This exhibition was curated by five intellectually-disabled artists and explored complex issues of independence and autonomy, resulting in new arts commissions, a non-textual approach to interpretation, and a programme of public events. Chapter one “Facilitating Research” is the first step in facilitating inclusive curating. This chapter discusses ways to support inclusive curators to undertake effective research in museums to inform their own exhibition and curatorial strategies. This includes supporting them to identify and discuss any access barriers when visiting art museums in their own terms, as well as observing diverse curatorial styles across different museums. How is a solo exhibition curated differently from a group exhibition? How does an artist-led space curate differently to a large institution? With the help of the activities provided in the toolkit, and by drawing on a case study of a research visit to Tate Liverpool, this chapter shows ways to support this type of critical thinking and observation. Chapter two “Finding the Big Idea” explores how to support inclusive curators to devise a curatorial framework for their exhibition. What will their exhibition be about? What concepts or issues will it address? These questions are answered by groups identifying shared experiences and looking towards their own lives and identities, which crucially, may differ from or challenge the dominant narrative of the museum. This chapter presents PATH and zine making as an effective methodology by which to enable group planning, discussion, and reflection on these topics. Case studies are also shared from Auto Agents demonstrating how zine making and arts-based enquiry enabled intellectually-disabled curators to develop the title of their exhibition. Chapter three is “Acquiring Artworks.” During this step, inclusive curators require facilitation to select artists and artworks for their exhibition. This chapter shares ways to support them in the development of their own artistic networks: cultivating relationships with artists, collections, or artworks. Furthermore, this chapter explores the possibilities of supporting inclusive curators to commission contemporary artworks. Commissioning artwork is a unique role of contemporary art curators. This chapter discusses how to develop artist briefs, interview artists, and participate in the development the commissioned works, all under the umbrella of inclusivity. In this chapter, issues and challenges of authorship are also discussed with the help of case studies and activities. Chapter four is “Developing Interpretation.” At this stage in the curatorial process inclusive curators would have researched museums and exhibitions, developed a theme for their own exhibition, acquired artworks for their programme, and may be commissioning new works for display. They are now tasked with developing interpretation.

8

Introduction

Interpretation, broadly speaking, is anything that helps visitors make sense of an exhibition. This typically includes artist statements, captions, wall texts, catalogues, tours, and increasingly digital tools and devices. This chapter introduces the key debates and challenges of interpretation in art museums, including questioning the “authoritative voice” of the institution and reliance on inaccessible language or “Artspeak.”57 This chapter draws upon a case study exploring a non-textual approach to interpretation, reflecting the ways the inclusive curators of Auto Agents differently read, write, and communicate as well as “Drawing Tours.” Chapter five is “Installation and Exhibition.” During this final step, inclusive curators are supported to finalize where the artworks will be located inside the gallery space, as well as planning the installation of the exhibition. Given that the placement of artwork is an exercise in both practical and aesthetic reflection, this section discusses the balancing of these thought processes. It also provides practical activities in supporting inclusive curators to think critically about these decisions. During this final step, they are also supported to think about marketing strategies, the exhibition opening, and evaluation. Finally, a brief word on terminology and tone. Throughout this book “museum” is used as a catch-all term to describe museums, galleries, and other sites such as heritage spaces where art is exhibited. Equally, we will consider several different groups of curators: curators as professionals, specific curators employed at museums, as well as the curators engaged in inclusive curating discussed in the case studies. For clarity, the curators engaged in inclusive curating are described throughout as “inclusive curators”. However, this is not a label used in practice and they are described simply as curators. In terms of tone, at times this book adopts a more personal tone rather than maintaining “academic distance.” This choice is reflective of my practice in that storytelling and narrative feature as both research method and facilitation tool. Narrative approaches are a growing trend and regarded as an important means of access to knowledge in human and cultural sciences.58 By including and drawing upon personal descriptions and narratives it is intended to offer rich descriptive accounts showing the ways in which facilitating inclusive curating is filtered through my own perspective, and how meaning is elicited from particular interactions with my collaborators. The integration of the artists, inclusive curators, and my own recorded voices and actions is a method by which to capture a more robust picture, and crucially, to explore and illuminate relational dynamics.

Who Is This Book For?

Often the problems of “real world” do not present themselves as well formed structures, but what philosopher Donald Schön describes as “swampy zones,”59 that is to say, muddy, indeterminate conditions that are difficult to navigate. Curating is a swampy zone. Like many creative processes, it is not readily amenable to being divided into a series of clearly defined tasks or decisions, and previous efforts to map this complex 57  Levine and Rule, “International Art English,” unpag.

58  Polkinghorne, Narrative Knowing and the Human Sciences. 59  Schön, The Reflective Practitioner, 3.



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process, such as Bienkowski’s use of “soft systems,”60 have served to illustrate the messy and interrelating nature of this practice. With this in mind, I have endeavoured to develop a practical guide which is grounded by an academic case study for readers relatively new to inclusive and participatory approaches to curating with communities. This book has been written with groups of people in mind: arts and museum studies students, artists and facilitators, community organisers and museum practitioners perhaps already working with community groups but would like to incorporate curatorial projects. Without experience to draw upon, it can be difficult to know where to start with this type of work; for instance, finding examples of activities to engage people, how to problem-solve, or anticipate issues ahead of time. The question posed by Eddie at the beginning of this introduction—what does a curator actually do?—inspired this book to show the “shape” of curating. To make it tangible through breaking it down into actionable parts with the intention of making it more useable for more people. The process outlined is therefore underpinned by a case study, example tools, and activity templates to best support readers to put this work into action. Alongside these practical elements this book is also supported by an overview of the key museological questions such as: Who benefits from inclusive curating? How can we ensure this work is undertaken in respectful and ethical ways? How do we make decisions collectively? How can we practise non-consensus? These questions are explored throughout this guide with the support of case studies, reflecting the fact that these endeavours have both theoretical and practical significance and are intertwined. There are many ways to approach the work of a curator.61 The methodology presented in this book is just one possible framework from which readers may base their own ways of working, and hopefully they will expand with use. Though my own experience of inclusive curating has been carried out within the context of contemporary art, I believe elements of this guide could be transferred to other cultural contexts such as historical collections and heritage sites. I welcome such application and look forward to learning how practitioners reconfigure and adapt this process to be used in their own specific areas of practice.

The Curator’s Changing Role

When first facilitating inclusive curating, I had never formally studied curation. Much of my curatorial knowledge was gained through arts practice; being curated and curating my own work. As my practice developed into practice-led research, I examined the historic evolution of the curator and the museum more closely which proved invaluable in contextualizing my work and thinking critically about my approach. In this section, let me review the curator’s changing role over time, paying particular attention to curator as gatekeeper, authority, and artist, as well as curating in relation to ideas of autonomy and authorship. In my further research, it became clear that these were key concepts to unravel (and resist) for the practice of inclusive curating. 60  Bienkowski, “Soft Systems in Museums.”

61  Hoare, ed., The New Curator.

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Introduction

The word “curator” has its origins in the Latin word cura, meaning “care,” and in the Late Middle English curate as one who has “a care or charge.” However, the term “curator” has moved beyond any singular definition and now occupies a much broader scope of activities, practices, and professions. Historically, curators designed and executed exhibitions alone and this practice was closed to “non-curators.”62 In the mid-fifteenth century, Italian nobles began to arrange privately collected artworks, primarily from ancient Greece and Rome, with the specific intention of displaying them to invited guests holding valued social positions. A well-known example of such displays is the Wunderkammer or “cabinets of curiosities.” Ferrante Imperato’s Dell’Historia Naturale in Naples is one of the earliest cabinet of curiosities represented in a wood cutting and painting of the same name dating to 1599.63 The wood cutting depicts a densely packed embellished room of objects, featuring books, shells, and marine creatures, and a large stuffed crocodile. Accumulation, definition, and classification was the threefold aim of cabinets of curiosities. Display panels, bespoke cabinets, drawers, and cases were not only a response to a desire to preserve and classify items, but also to “slot each item into its place in a vast network of meanings.”64 Such groupings of objects began the notion of storytelling and the arrangement of narratives within displays and the “construction of a temporally organised order of things and peoples.”65 The Pitt Rivers Museum in Oxford is considered a surviving example of such a collection and display practices. Founded in 1884, The Pitt Rivers’ anthropology collection remains densely displayed in thematic groupings and classifications such as “Pottery,” “Lamps,” “Religious Figures,” and famous case of “Shrunken Heads”66; it is a museum of a museum. As time passed, cabinets of curiosities evolved and grew in importance and the small private cabinets were absorbed into larger ones. In turn these larger cabinets were bought by gentlemen, noblemen, and royalty for their amusement and edification. These merged into cabinets so large that they took over entire rooms. Over time, these noble and royal collections were institutionalized and turned into public museums. The best-known example is of the Ark, the cabinet of curiosity of John Tradescant Senior (1570–1638) and John Tradescant Junior (1608–1662), which was acquired by Elias Ashmole which later became the Ashmolean Museum’s collection. The Ashmolean in Oxford is now considered the oldest public museum and the first purpose-built museum in the world.67 With the emergence of the public museum, in the mid-nineteenth century, the group art exhibition format flourished, and the curator became an influential figure of knowledge who could draw together artists via master narratives. The curators’ reputation as gatekeeper and expert developed further; they became responsible for “upholding 62  Hooper-Greenhill, Museums and the Shaping of Knowledge.

63  Mauriés, Cabinets of Curiosities, 12. 64  Ibid., 25.

65  Ferguson et al., Thinking about Exhibitions, 101. 66  O’Hanlon, The Pitt Rivers Museum.

67  Ashmolean, “The Story of the World’s First Public Museum,” unpag.



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11

divisions between art and artefact, ‘high’ and ‘low,’ practitioner and spectator.”68 As sociologist and philosopher Pierre Bourdieu describes, curators evolved into “specialized agents who shaped the economy of cultural goods […] capable of imposing a specific measure of the value of the artist and his products.”69 This shaping of “cultural goods” as Bourdieu describes involves processes whereby art is “filtered and legitimized.”70 This is described by Morris Hargreaves McIntyre as the “subscription process.”71 “Subscription” recognizes that a series of gatekeepers and stakeholders, namely curators, who by interacting with the artist and their artwork add to its critical value, importance, and provenance. It has been argued that this traditional mode of curatorship became a standardized, homogenized, institutionalized, and object-dominated practice, the dynamics and activities of which parallelled the art market.72 This type of curatorial practice “worked within”73 the institution, and has since been accused of creating a distance between the audience and actions of the curator by upholding ideologies, certain systems of value or hierarchies, which are not made apparent to the public.74 But it was in the 1960s and 1970s the curator’s prominent role was cemented. The wake of conceptualism paved the way for bolder custodial scenarios described as “curatorial expression.”75 This is exemplified in the work of curators Harald Szeemann and Lucy Lippard who undertook “ground-breaking”76 curatorial projects which had similarities with the work of some conceptual artists at the time, for whom ideas took precedence over traditional aesthetic, technical, and material concerns. In other words, the avant-garde movement amongst artists was met by an avant-garde movement in curating. For instance, Documenta 5 (1972) is today considered a major highlight in the history of contemporary art curating and the “first major exhibition project in which a curator can be seen as creative ‘author.’”77 Documenta is a major international contemporary art presentation that continues to takes place every five years in Kassel, central Germany. Documenta 5 is considered pioneering due to its radically different presentation, conceived as a one-hundred-day themed event comprising performances and “happenings,” as opposed to static displays. “Super-curator” Hans Ulrich Obrist articulates how exhibitions shifted from a historical approach of order and stability via static displays, to a place of flux and instability, the unpredictable.78 68  Ault, “Three Snapshots from the Eighties,” 38.

69  Bourdieu, “The Historical Genesis of a Pure Aesthetic,” 204. 70  McIntyre, Taste Buds, 4. 71  Ibid.

72  Vidokle, “Art Without Artists?,” unpag.

73  De Lara, “Curating or the Curatorial?,” 4. 74  Ramirez, “Brokering Identities,” 75  Ventizislavov, “Idle Arts,” 87.

76  Fotiadi, “The Canon of the Author,” 29. 77  Ibid., 27.

78  Obrist, A Brief History of Curating.

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Introduction

The blurring of lines between artist and curator during this period characterizes the conceptualist moment, but this was not always an amicable development. In the case of Documenta 5, artists were “hostile to the powerful Harald Szeemann on more than one occasion”79 and later a manifesto was signed by artists such as Donald Judd and Sol LeWitt which accused “Szeemann and his co-curators presenting work in themed sections without the artist’s consent.”80 As themed exhibition formats like this boomed, the curator’s power grew. Curators began to be criticized for superseding the work of artists through the reinforcement of their own authorial claims “that render artists and artworks merely actors and props for illustrating curatorial concepts.”81 Implicit here is the idea of autonomy as a zero-sum game; that one person’s gain must be equivalent to another’s loss. In other words, as curators gained autonomy the artists’ capacity for autonomy was diminished. I have found this to be a useful idea to support people in articulating and reconsidering their feelings about curatorial power and control, as we will see in later chapters. Curator and academic Paul O’Neill also explores this issue of whether contemporary curators can be recognized artists in their own right.82 In support of this claim, O’Neill cites theorist Hans-Dieter Huber who believes curatorship has been transformed into “something like a signature, a specific style, a specific image” and “what once characterised the work of an artist, namely his style, his signature, his name, is now true of the work of the curator.”83 Developing this idea further, curator Jens Hoffmann argues an understanding of the author–curator’s work as constituting individual practice due to a “strong creative sensibility” and “apparent artistic development over time.”84 However not everyone agrees on the curator’s claim to artistry. Robert Storr, an artist, curator, critic, and educator, wrote a series of articles for Frieze magazine in 2005 on the subject of curators as artists. He finds the idea of curators as artists to be seriously mistaken. He traces this “mistake” back to the various philosophical challenges to authorship, citing the discourses from Oscar Wilde’s The Critic as Artist and Roland Barthes’ “The Death of the Author.” In Barthes’ influential work he rejects the idea of authorial intent, and instead develops a reader-response critical theory, or in his words “the unity of a text is not in its origin, it is in its destination.”85 Building on this, Storr asserts that the curator is not in the business of having aesthetic experiences but of facilitating these for end-users. He uses the analogy of a curator “being akin to that of a good literary editor, who may justly take pride in spotting ability and fostering accomplishment but who is otherwise content to function as the probing but respectful ‘first reader’ of the work.”86 79  Balzer, Curationism, 46.

80  Ibid., 47.

81  Vidokle, “Art Without Artists?,” unpag.

82  O’Neill, The Culture of Curating and the Curating of Culture(s). 83  Ibid., 122.

84  Ibid., 97.

85  Barthes, “The Death of the Author,” 148. 86  Storr, “The Exhibitionists,” unpag.



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Similarly, curator and philosopher Sue Spaid wrote an engaging response to academic Rossen Ventzislavov who made the case in a widely cited thesis that “curating should be understood as fine art.”87 While Spaid agrees that curatorial ideas offer (though only temporarily) a genuine contribution to the life of the artworks involved, she identifies a crucial distinction in that she considers curatorial ideas to “contribute cognitive value, not artistic value.”88 However, the image of the curator as single author and artist is to some degree a construction. More often than you would expect, and even in the cases of some exhibitions which have been strongly linked to an individual curator’s name, innovations in curating have commonly resulted from collective or collaborative endeavours. The previous example of Documenta 5 is almost never remembered as a team project but an individual curatorial achievement of Harald Szeemann. On further research I found this to be not entirely accurate. Bazon Brock, who could be categorized as co-curator on Documenta 5 described the process of curating the renowned exhibition as: “All the participating artists were named by the different curators but chosen by collective decisions and of course Harry Szeemann was the moderator-in-chief.”89 Brock clearly presents the exhibition as a group endeavour with shared decision-making, that is, collective and collaborative curatorship. Individual Methodology where the interview with Brock was published, clearly maintains that Documenta 5 had been the most important and complicated curatorial project during the first fifteen years of Szeemann’s career. But the same publication also demonstrated through interviews with those working on the exhibition that both in terms of the conception, as well as in its delivery, it was the product of a collaboration with a number of individuals. So why is Documenta 5 universally acknowledged as an achievement of Szeemann? Eva Fotiadi believes that it is due to the lack of systematic research on the history of curating that “allowed practitioners in the art world to create a curator’s persona as it was more convenient for the professional art world.”90 Yet with the increase of new biennials and other large international exhibitions, the 1990s provided new sites where curatorial and artistic practices converged, explicitly blurring the distinction between artist and curator.91 Curating became an expanded methodology; emancipating the role of the curator from previous notions of “divine power” and authorship92 by opening the possibilities of curatorial action. This approach to curating is relational, offering new possibilities of multilateral thinking across disciplines, fields, and so on. It invites dialogue across and between “without any need for any singular author”93 and crucially here, curating is not seen as the practice of indi87  Ventzislavov, “Idle Arts,” 83.

88  Spaid, “Revisiting Ventzislavov’s Thesis,” 87.

89  Pesapane, “Interview with Co-Curators,” 135. 90  Fotiadi, “The Canon of the Author,” 27.

91  O’Neill, The Culture of Curating and the Curating of Culture(s). 92  Robbins, “Engaging with Curating,” 150.

93  De Lara, “Curating or the Curatorial?,” 5.

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Introduction

vidual “genius” but as distributed and shared. This is also described by journalist Robert Wright as “non-zero-sumness”: the prospect of creating new interactions that are not a zero-sum game.94 This shift away from a singular authorial voice was most likely aided in the 1990s and 2000s by a new focus on audience-orientated art such as participatory and relational art practices.95 This reimagining of curatorship is famously advocated by Hans Ulrich Obrist who claims that to curate in this sense is “to refuse static arrangements and permanent alignments and instead to enable conversations and relations.”96 Similarly, in 2015 Karen Gaskill undertook research into the social practice of the curator where she observed curation as an “active and working practice,” both “holistic and responsive.” Social curation also supports the relational, intangible attributes of works in equal measure to the physical, tangible aspects.97 Today, the word “curate” continues to evolve and is not the museum-specific term it once was. During the period of writing this book, I visited a new restaurant in my city. As I scanned the menu my eyes were drawn towards the phrase “curated by the head chef.” But this is not the first time “curate” has appeared in unexpected contexts. Hollywood actress Gwyneth Paltrow “curates” a weekly online lifestyle publication Goop. In 2017, Firefly in Delaware became the first “fan curated music festival,”98 and you can now download an app to help you “curate” your funeral.99 It appears curating is now becoming a concept increasingly dislocated from the museum. The rise of the term “curate” online appears to reflect an “agentive turn to meta-authorship.”100 Michael Bhaskar believes curating has become a buzzword because it answers a set of modern problems: “the problems caused by having too much.”101 With increased productivity, resources, communication, and data, the more “stuff” we produce as a society, the more valuable curatorial skills are becoming. “Curate” as a label with its “scholarly pedigree, is more prestigious and thus deserving of a high price” rather than “selected” or “organized.”102 Thus is it becoming synonymous with the act of “careful selection,” wryly echoed in comedian Stewart Lee’s quip, “it is reassuring to know that it has been curated, whatever it is.”103 In the art world, an increasing number of projects are experimenting in transferring curatorial responsibility over to the general public (rather than co-curating with select community groups). A notable example of this is Per Huttner’s project I Am a Curator 94  Wright, NonZero, 7.

95  Bourriaud, Relational Aesthetics. 96  Obrist, Sharp Tongues, 25.

97  Gaskill, “In Search of the Social,” 125.

98  Moore, “Delaware Festival Firefly to Become First Fan-Curated Music Festival in 2017,” unpag.

99  Amirtha, “Death Apps Promise to Help People Curate their Afterlives,” unpag. 100  McDougall and Potter, “Curating Media Learning,” 201. 101  Bhaskar, Curation, 6.

102  Kingston, “Everyone’s a Curator Now,” unpag.

103  Lee, “Curating... You are the Disease, I am the Curator,” unpag.



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(2003) at the Chisenhale Gallery, London. This exhibition invited the public to apply to be a curator for the day, and with over seventy artworks to select from, individuals worked with the gallery team for an afternoon in realizing an exhibition. Other models invite the audience to select works via online possibilities. Do It with Others (2007), a project hosted by Furtherfield. This drew reference from Fluxus’s Mail Art projects in creating an e-mail art exhibition where users submitted their artworks and their own ordering and selection strategies for public consideration. Another event using online platforms is Click! (2008) at the Brooklyn Museum, which defined itself as a “crowd curated” exhibition, and invited the museum’s visitors, online audiences, and the public to be responsible for the selection process. Click! asked photographers to submit their work, then the public were responsible for the final selection. The explosion of social media has also accelerated curatorial ways of thinking. Platforms such as Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, Tumblr, and Snapchat enable users to collect and collate images and text for an audience of friends and strangers which “has become a ubiquitous, quintessentially 21st century act.”104 In 2013, the Essl Museum in Klosterneuburg, Austria, hosted Like It, a permanent-collection exhibition based solely on Facebook likes. Even Sotheby’s, one of the world’s largest and “premier” brokers of fine and decorative art has advised artists how to “curate” their Instagram account suggesting: “In museums, people stroll. On Instagram, they scroll. And they scroll fast. To grab their attention, your pictures must be visually arresting.”105 Some in the museum sector are unhappy about the term “curate” being used in this way,106 but is this approach to curating more democratic and inclusive as it allows a broader range of voices to be included in the valuing and recognition of culture? Some argue that this broadening of voices and perspectives calls into question the concept of “quality” or “scholarship.”107 The same critique is also applied to inclusive arts and practices of participatory arts which employ audience engagement, on which arts journalist Mark Rinaldi comments, “when audiences become a variable, the quality of art varies a great deal.”108 Evidently, the role of the curator is an ever-changing and shifting one, derived from various sources and expressed in different arenas. Curatorial authority was understood to be established and shaped as early as the seventeenth century but, over time, has been subject to challenge and rapid change. For me, what remains consistent is that curating is more than the capacity to select and display, it is about understanding and demonstrating how critically informed decisions fit into a wider matrix of links and publics. Curating is a therefore a critically-engaged process. The methodology outlined in this book evidences that there are ways of engaging a wider spectrum of people with curating by reconfiguring the framework for critical decision making using inclusive and participa104  Borrelli, “Everybody’s a Curator,” unpag.

105  Anon., “Curating an Instagram Account for the Art World,” unpag.

106  Booth, “Do you use ‘Curate’ when ‘Organise’ will do? Well you shouldn’t….” unpag.

107  Fleming, “Museums, Human Rights, Contested Histories and Excluded Communities.” 108  Rinaldi, “Art and the Active Audience,” unpag.

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Introduction

tory approaches. Can anyone be a curator? Yes, I believe most people can. But to engage “anyone” with this practice, it must be underpinned by a rigorous process to ensure criticality. Crucially, it is how that “critical eye” is cast that I believe should not be reserved for, or decided on by gatekeepers, but open to interpretation and participation by all.

ACTIVITY “Can Anyone be a Curator?” Continuum Line

Should the term curator be used broadly or narrowly? Can it cover professional museum curators as well as Pinterest boards?109 Can anyone be a curator? This activity aims to stimulate these thought-provoking questions. During inclusive curatorial projects, this activity is facilitated with both the inclusive curators and museum staff (sometimes together) and works particularly well at the beginning and end of a project, providing a sense of people’s thoughts and feelings and to see if, and how, they change throughout the process. Set up time: 5 minutes, Activity time: 30 mins What to Do –– Find an empty section of wall or floor (the larger the better) and fix a piece of string in a straight line from side to the other like a horizonal timeline. Then, place the words “yes” and “no” at opposite ends of the string.

–– Stick up the question you would like participants to consider where everyone can see. In this instance; “can anyone be a curator?”

–– Without discussion, give participants the same colour sticker (for example “Post-It” notes) and ask them to write their name on it and position their sticker along the line in relation to the opposing terms. The closer you place your sticker towards “yes” it means you strongly agree with the statement. The closer you place your sticker towards “no” it means you strongly disagree with the statement. It can be beneficial for some groups to do a practice round with a different question, demonstrating how the process works. –– Once participants have placed their sticker, they are then invited to feed back their decisions through a “living continuum” by positioning themselves along the line by their sticker, allowing them the time to explain their decision and attempt to persuade their colleagues to move their choice along the continuum. During this process, facilitators can use questions to support participants in identifying and articulating the thinking behind their decision-making. Using this activity, can groups develop their criteria for being a curator? –– Record the continuum using photographs, film or notes.

109  Pinterest is a social media platform that enables users to collect and collate images via pin­ boards online.



Tip

Introduction

17

This process works well to unpick any question or statement. If a facilitator encounters points of tension during the project, this activity can be used to as a way to air discussion and reveal nuance and difference in point of view. The Facilitator

Facilitation, first and foremost, is about groups of people. No matter the group or circumstance, the purpose of all facilitators is to strengthen the effectiveness of a group who are there to complete a task or address an issue together. In other words, facilitation is the practice of applying structure to the complex and unruly process of collaboration. Inclusive curating is a guided process that requires a facilitator to act as a conduit between the museum, its staff, artists, and the inclusive curators, and is responsible for enabling the overall process. Facilitators are becoming increasingly commonplace in museum work; however there has been little research rigorously examining their role.110 Frequently, I am asked, “what makes a good facilitator’? Curator Hans Ulrich Obrist once described curating as “building temporary communities” through “connecting different people and practices and causing the conditions for triggering sparks between them.”111 I find this to be true of great facilitators too. The skills of a facilitator should be broad-reaching. Acting as a community builder, mediator, translator, catalyst, and synergist, at the core of this practice facilitators use their “own knowledge and skills to facilitate and enable other’s creativity.”112 They employ creative ways of looking at and engaging with art through a process that is active and experiential, good facilitators exert their capacity to scaffold learning. Facilitators know the process is not about them. Facilitators know how to actively listen; they smile and make eye contact, use verbal affirmations, they question and summarize what people say for clarification, they observe body language and take notice. Facilitators are also reflexive and willing to be vulnerable. Many facilitators I know are meticulous by nature, but on the flipside, they adapt quickly to change and are willing to abandon their well-made plans for the sake of the group. For facilitators, spontaneity and intuition are important, but reflecting and critical thinking are equally significant.113 At the beginning of an inclusive curatorial project I am always clear in defining my own role as a facilitator to the inclusive curators, artists, and broader networks: I am not an “artistic director,” “co-curator,” or “producer.” I describe how my role is akin to a “support worker” who is there to help everyone keep track of the exhibition, to work and communicate effectively with people, and crucially, to support them make critically-engaged decisions. The decisions and trajectory of the exhibition are ultimately the group’s to make. The position of facilitator requires a reflexive approach, ensuring 110  Thomas, “Why Make a Case for the Artist Facilitator?”

111  Obrist, Everything You Always Wanted to Know about Curating but Were Afraid to Ask, 166. 112  Pringle, “What’s with the Artist?,” 37.

113  Pringle, “The Artist-Led Pedagogic Process in the Contemporary Art Gallery,” 71.

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Introduction

personal opinions and preferences do not influence the group’s decisions. In my view, a facilitator’s opinions must not encroach on the project but instead must work to create opportunities for participants to discover, question, and share their opinion. Some readers may be intending to facilitate inclusive curatorial projects themselves, while other readers may be planning to recruit someone for the job. If the latter applies to you, let me present a personal specification for the facilitator’s role that has been crowd-sourced from a number of facilitators in the field. FACILITATOR JOB SPECIFICATION

Experience Experience of leading workshops for diverse audiences Experience of workshop research and planning Experience of curating

Experience of project co-ordination and administration

Experience of working with a range of arts professionals

Knowledge

Knowledgeable about access barriers within museums and contemporary art for different communities Knowledgeable about art, curating and interpretation A repertoire of creative activities

Knowledge of safeguarding procedures

Skills

Excellent communication skills; confidently uses a variety of methods as needed to build relationships Excellent observation skills

Ability to make boring tasks dynamic and participatory Ability to motivate and encourage people

Ability to respond to sensitive issues in a confidential manner and to share information appropriately

Personal Qualities

Confident collaborating with a range of people from different backgrounds Remains positive and resilient under pressure Self-aware and reflexive

Skilled at negotiating challenging situations



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The facilitator will be vital in facilitating workshops that support inclusive curators to undertake research, work with artists, make decisions, create interpretation, and manage the exhibition’s installation. As we will explore throughout this book, a key challenge of inclusive curating is navigating how facilitators, like other stakeholders, can support the curatorial work of communities without “taking over.” With their own job potentially on the line, how can they enable critical decision-making without wielding their power? When does “support” veer into “over/protection,” or even control? What does “ethical” facilitation look like and is it possible to articulate a model? To address these questions, I draw upon practice and research located in disability studies which explores the complexities of support work by researchers such as Ross Chapman114 and Jan Walmsley.115 Teamed with my own practical experience having worked alongside intellectually-disabled people as a support worker for ten years, my experience has been helpful in articulating an approach to facilitation for this book.

Auto Agents, An Inclusively Curated Exhibition

The main body of research underpinning this book is a three-year (2014–2017) project at the University of Leeds titled Art as Advocacy.116 Employing an action-research approach, this project investigated the ways in which curating could be reimagined as an inclusive and accessible practice alongside intellectually-disabled people, whilst also examining the potential for curating as a site for collective political expression and advocacy for this group. Importantly, Art as Advocacy was underpinned by collaborating with two organizations: Halton Speak Out and Bluecoat. Founded in 2001, Halton Speak Out is a selfadvocacy charity run by and for intellectually-disabled people. Halton is a district in the Liverpool City Region centred on the towns of Widnes and Runcorn, both having large chemical industry backgrounds. The group’s slogan “the right to have a life” reflects how the organization continues to address inequalities faced by intellectually-disabled people in their community through a range of projects including person-centred life plans, support worker training, peer advocacy and consultation with the local authority. The second organization is Bluecoat, Liverpool’s centre for contemporary art. Thought to be the United Kingdom’s oldest arts centre,117 Bluecoat houses four gallery spaces, a creative community of artists and businesses and a large programme of participation and engagement. Since 2008 this programme has included Blue Room, a weekly inclusive arts project specifically for intellectually-disabled visual artists who play an active role in Bluecoat. From the membership of both organizations I recruited five people with intellectual disabilities who had all applied to take on the role of a curator: Hannah Bellass and Leah Jones from Halton Speak Out, and Tony Carroll, Diana Disley and Eddie 114  Chapman, “An Exploration of the Self‐Advocacy Support Role.”

115  Walmsley, Inclusive Research with People with Learning Disabilities. 116  French, “Art as Advocacy.”

117  Bluecoat Museum, “Heritage,” updated 2018, http://www.thebluecoat.org.uk/content/heritage.

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Introduction

Figure 1: Auto Agents exhibition at Bluecoat, 2017



Introduction

21

Rauer from Bluecoat’s Blue Room. By strategically recruiting the inclusive curators from both organizations the aim was to bring knowledge and skills in self-advocacy into dialogue with knowledge and skills in artistic expression. Once the research team was in place, I and two support workers met the inclusive curators weekly at Bluecoat over the course of a year to curate an exhibition. The result was Auto Agents, an inclusively curated visual arts exhibition that opened at Bluecoat on November 26, 2016 and ran until January 15, 2017, and then went on to be displayed at The Brindley theatre in Runcorn between March 4 and April 15, 2017. Significantly, both the participatory process of curating and the exhibition theme itself came together to address an issue that is at the heart of advancing the rights of intellectually-disabled people: autonomy. Autonomy or, in the words of the inclusive curators “what it means to be independent by making your own decisions,” is a central concern for self-advocates and emerged from the inclusive curators’ personal experiences from research around the continued lack of autonomy faced by many intellectually-disabled people. With the support of an Arts Council England grant, Auto Agents featured two new commissions by local artists James Harper and Mark Simmonds made in close collaboration with the inclusive curators. In addition to these commissioned pieces, work by London-based artist Alaena Turner was also included. As well as undertaking curatorial research, developing an exhibition theme and commissioning and selecting the artwork, the group planned the installation and designed accessible interpretation and public programme for audiences. Curating Auto Agents produced a rich account of the ways in which curatorial and self-advocacy practices intersect. This intersection, whereby tools found in self-advocacy were carried over into curatorship, provided new methodologies that enabled curating to become an inclusive practice and underpins much of the process outlined in this book. This research is archived on a website—www.artasadvocacy.co.uk—which features the written work alongside a project archive of images, film, sound, journaling, and other pieces of qualitative data from the research.

Chapter 1

FACILITATING RESEARCH Research is a role intimately connected with that of being a curator. Whether investigating artworks to be acquired within a collection or seeking out the “rising stars” of the art world, research plays a central function within curatorial practice. Traditionally, curators would have spent years researching and developing an exhibition’s concept through detailed analysis of art history, collections, a group, or movement; the term itself echoes the etymology of “research,” which can be traced from the Old French “recherché” and came to mean “to look for with care” during the sixteenth century.1 The vast majority of contemporary art curators however, are not typically afforded such extensive research time and increasingly exhibitions are a combination of a curator’s “research interests and market interests.”2 Given this widely accepted role of research within curating, we see today increasing recognition of the “curatorial” as a potential mode of actionresearch of and in itself.3 Curators of contemporary art conduct research through a broad range of methods. From collection study, reading widely across art history, philosophy, critical texts, pop culture magazines, to novels and newspapers. They conduct research visits to exhibitions and artist studios, watch cinema and other types of performance, network with those outside of the arts such as academics and increasingly through the web4 including social media platforms such as Instagram.5 Curating is considered a practice which is “responsive”6 to ideas and urgencies. This may be a particular artist’s work, a certain trend or phenomenon in art making, or a response or interest to a social, political, environmental, historic issue that the curator sees reflected in the work of artists. Curators of contemporary art tend to commission artwork; the primary form of research tends to be engaging with artists, studios, galleries, and exhibitions as well as other curators, arts professionals, and academics. These more “relational”7 or social forms of research, also described by curator Jean-Hubert Martin as “fieldwork,”8 translate readily into inclusive curating. This chapter describes how to support inclusive curators to undertake effective research and inform their exhibition and curatorial strategies through research visits. 1  Oxford English Dictionary Online, “research, v.1.” Accessed December 5, 2018, http://www. oed.com/. 2  George, The Curator’s Handbook, 33.

3  O’Neill and Wilson, ed., Curating Research, 57. 4  Connor, “Rhizome Artbase [1999-].”

5  Budge, “Virtual Studio Practices.”

6  Renton et al., “The Trouble with Curating.” 7  Bourriaud, Relational Aesthetics. 8  Fowle, “Action Research,” 157.

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This step in the process is important for two key reasons: firstly, it enables people who may have little experience of visiting museums to explore these spaces using a structure of support. Inclusive curators, who may potentially identify barriers to cultural spaces, need to be supported to identify and discuss any access barriers on their own terms. As feminist scholar Sara Ahmed describes, institutional spaces such as museums, “take shape by being orientated around some bodies, more than others.”9 It is important to acknowledge that the inclusive curators, and the communities whom they identify with and represent, may feel excluded from such places or experience “threshold fear,”10 which must be reflected upon carefully and respectfully. This knowledge becomes essential learning for them further down the line. Secondly, the inclusive curators will likely need support in observing different curatorial styles across the different museums. How is a solo-artist exhibition curated differently from a group exhibition? How does an artist-led space curate differently to a large institution? It is essential that they are supported in this type of critical thinking and observation. This chapter also reviews a research visit to Tate Liverpool as part of the research phase for Auto Agents.

Planning Research Visits

Visiting a range of museums and cultural spaces is both a productive and dynamic approach to research. These visits can present rich opportunities to meet with curators and arts professionals, observe a variety of exhibitions and displays in action, and reflect upon different curatorial styles and approaches together as a group. Before embarking on research visits, it is vital that facilitators appropriately plan and undertake pre-site visits, or “recces.”11 Such a reconnoitre (pronounced “recky”) is an essential part of the facilitator’s preparation and will enable them to collect information to effectively plan the group visits. During a recce, the facilitator will visit the research site without the group and use the opportunity to collect information about three broad areas: safety, access, and engagement. Before the recce, always discuss safety and access requirements with the group first. One may ask inclusive curators and anyone else attending off-site visits what would make the trip accessible and comfortable for them. With this information in hand, facilitators will have a good idea of what to look out for. Over the years I have supported many groups on research visits and they do not always go smoothly. One research visit to Liverpool Biennial, a festival of contemporary art, with the inclusive curators of Auto Agents has stuck firmly in my mind. Liverpool Biennial had recently launched, and I was keen for group to visit an example of a temporary exhibition site. After completing a recce of the old warehouse repurposed for an exhibition, I contacted Liverpool Biennial to organise the group’s access requirements, particularly seating and somewhere to eat our packed lunch. However, when we arrived 9  Ahmed, “A Phenomenology of Whiteness,” 157.

10  Gurian, “Threshold Fear,” 203.

11  An informal term for “reconnaissance” which means a military observation of a region to locate an enemy or ascertain strategic features. Reconnaissance is also used to refer to a preliminary surveying or research.



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the arrangements had not transpired. Some miscommunication meant we were left without seating and nowhere to eat. The group was uncomfortable, hungry, and disengaged; I was left with no other option than to abandon the visit knowing that there was nowhere nearby to take the group. Thorough planning will likely enable facilitators to get the most out of the visit and ensure it is a comfortable and enjoyable experience for everyone, at the very least, planning enabled facilitators to respond calmly to any incidents that may arise and to take appropriate action. In this case, a taxi back to the museum. Safety

Although health and safety requirements may feel like bureaucratic paperwork, research visits must be safe for those attending and undertaking risk assessments will help facilitators identify fire evacuation routes and first aid posts, and any potential hazards. How will the group travel to the research site, together or alone individually? Do any members of the group need to take medication or have medical conditions you should be aware of? Will the group be handling objects? Will they be encountering dimly lit spaces or installations? Are there building works or repairs taking place at the site? Being aware and knowledgeable about the space and how to get there will ensure a smoother visit. When taking inclusive curators to the disused warehouse site for example, I was well aware that some of the floors were uneven and this could pose a hazard to members who had trouble walking unassisted or standing for long periods. Many UK museums and cultural spaces have risk-assessment forms readily available for group visits, and these can provide a great starting-point. Safety is not just limited to the physical environment. Facilitators will also be responsible for reviewing the content of the site, determining if there is any potentially upsetting or offensive material. I do not believe it the facilitator’s role to “protect” inclusive curators from such content, but it is the facilitator’s responsibility to be well prepared and briefed. By knowing there is content on display that members of the group may find distressing, facilitators can provide trigger warnings, additional information, offer a choice to opt out or different ways to participate, and crucially, plan engagement activities that take a critical stance on such material being included in the first place. Access

It is useful to consider access in museums in its historical context. Developments within disability politics12 in the late 1980s proved powerful in articulating difficulties of access to services for disabled people, particularly in transport and public places, and this analysis was then applied to identify accessibility issues in places of arts and culture. “Access” has proved useful in turn for galleries, museums, and heritage sites in conceptualizing barriers to their participation. Most early research focused on inves12  Social Model of Disability, see Oliver, The Politics of Disablement.

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tigating best practice solutions into making cultural institutions physically accessible,13 but definitions have since been expanded to recognize a much wider range of barriers including intellectual, sensory, and financial obstacles. Physical access describes being able to enter and move around a place freely. Does a site have step-free access, lifts, wide doors, seating, appropriate bathroom facilities, and suitable transport links? Can people participate physically with the exhibits and artworks? Is content at a reasonable height? Can they reach interactive features like buttons? Can they move freely in a wheelchair around exhibits? Museums tend to prioritize this type of access but, in many ways, are still coming to terms with it.14 In August 2019 a Twitter thread by Ciara O’Connor, a writer for the Irish Sunday Independent, went virial. In the thread O’Connor describes how, during a visit to Olafur Eliasson’s exhibition In Real Life (2019) at the Tate Modern in London, she was unable to access the installation Your Spiral View (2002)—a mirrored sculptural tunnel which visitors are invited to walk through—as a wheelchair user.15 Intellectual access or “inclusive information display”16 involves ensuring that meaning or content can be understood by a wide range of people. Would any members of the group, for instance, benefit from information in different formats such as easy-read summaries, images, or audio? Sensory access describes using range of senses to navigate places. Will any individuals need audio guides, captioning, or tactile handling tools? If facilitating people who are neurodivergent would they benefit from pre-visit materials, early entrance, or quiet areas? Finally, financial access is a consideration. If you plan to visit ticketed exhibitions or events, or plan to have lunch or refreshments during the visit, will these be funded? If not, can all members of the group comfortably afford this cost? In the United Kingdom, Euan’s Guide, Shape Arts, and Disability Co-operative Network for Museums are three excellent resources for researching access provision within cultural venues. One needs to keep in mind too that many museums and cultural organizations will have their own access policies, guides, and education packs for group visits. These can usually be found on their website or are available upon request. As a startingpoint for facilitators during recces, see the sample access checklist opposite. Engagement

Once the safety and access aspects of the visit have been prepared, facilitators should consider how to support the group’s exploration and engagement with the content of the sites. It is not enough to just encourage people to attend galleries, museums, events, or artist’s studios and hope research will “happen,” but to strategically plan and facilitate activities that support people to engage actively. This requires facilitators support-

13  Earnscliffe, In Through the Front Door.

14  Museums Association, “Ethical Guidelines 4—Access,” unpag.

15  Shaw, “Wheelchair User Blasts Olafur Eliasson Show,” unpag. 16  Rayner, Access in Mind, 18.



Facilitating Research

ACCESS CHECKLIST Physical Access

Intellectual Access

Disabled parking ; Local, accessible taxi service ; Accessible local transport options ; Any indications of the distances/ ;

Large print hand-outs ; Plain language or easy-read ;

Flat and even surfaces into building ; Level access throughout building ; Accessible lift ; Accessible toilet ; Changing Places toilet ; Ramps for steps or raised areas ; Hearing loop ; Clear signage ; Turning space for wheelchairs in ;

Artwork labels at an accessible ;

gradients between key points? Such as, car park to entrance

exhibits or key spaces

The height of tables/counters in ;

all the public areas, including café, reception area, shop

Adequate seating throughout ;

Sensory Access Early entry option ; Flash, strobe, or neon lighting ; Quiet area ; Visual story or pre-visit guide ; Relaxed performances ; Ear defenders ; Tool 1: Access Checklist

versions of printed materials

Braille ; Picture Exchange Communication ; System (PECS)

height (1.10 metres recommended)

Adequate lighting ; Tour guide availability ; Sign language tour availability ; Touch tour availability ; Audio description availability ; Live captioning availability ;

(for performances, talks, events)

Education or activity packs ;

Financial Access Affordable public transport ; Free/affordable parking ; Free-to-use toilet facilities ; Free entrance ; Free exhibitions ; Discounts or group passes available ; Carers and support workers free ; entrance

Water fountain ; Place to eat packed lunches, such ; as a pre-bookable lunch-room or seating area

Affordable food and drink options ; on-site or nearby

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ing the inclusive curators to engage directly with artworks while sharing their own knowledge through dialogic exchange. Structuring this type of engagement as “doing” activities works well since, for many people, “making sense has a lot to do with making,”17 or what Schön refers to as “knowing in action.”18 Each engagement activity designed by the facilitator will be bespoke to both the place and to the inclusive curators themselves, and so in the next section I describe the process of facilitating engagement to support facilitators in creating their own activities. Facilitating Engagement Activities

Firstly, how does a facilitator prepare engagement activities for inclusive curators? The facilitator’s preparation includes preparatory time at the research site. This might include visiting exhibitions or artist studios, exploring the building’s facilities such as shops, library or education areas, researching the collection, consulting articles, catalogues, or reference works, and speaking with staff. The aim is to soak up information and gather ideas for activities. I usually spend a full day depending on the size of the site, combining the safety and access recce. It is important to tread with caution during the next step. How facilitators use the knowledge gained from their own research must be reflected upon carefully. Such knowledge should be used to suggest possibilities and provide context, not to “tell” inclusive curators what to think, how to feel or act during their own research visit. For example, the facilitator could use information gathered from their own research to suggest the circumstances surround the creation of an artwork (e.g., time period, location), providing the group with information that indicates possibilities of how and why a work came to be. In other words, they would not be interpreting the artwork for them. Armed with a deeper understanding of the research site, facilitators can now begin devising bespoke activities that will best support engagement by the group. As each activity should be tailored to both the inclusive curators and site itself, the following diagram articulates the process of facilitating engagement activities at research sites, particularly museums. It builds upon an existing model developed by Emily Pringle titled the “Meaning Making in the Gallery” framework or MMG.19 This aims to describe the pedagogic relationship between the artist-educator, learners, and artworks/objects within the museum. This model has been adapted specifically to account for the context of inclusive curating. As you can see from the inner circle on the diagram in fig. 2, engagement begins with “experiencing”20 followed by reviewing and discussing. Activities must first encourage inclusive curators to experience art or what David N. Perkins terms as “organized” or “practiced looking.”21 Anyone who has ever worked as a museum or gallery invigilator, 17  Streeck, “How to Do Things with Things,” 383.

18  Schön, The Reflective Practitioner.

19  Pringle, “The Artist-Led Pedagogic Process in the Contemporary Art Gallery.”

20  Dewey, Art as Experience, 36.

21  Perkins, The Intelligent Eye, 70.



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Figure 2: Facilitating Engage­ ment Framework, illustration by Emma Curd

or even just spent time observing people in exhibitions, will know that people do not spend much time actually looking. A study by Beverly Serrell claims that visitors typically spend fewer than twenty minutes in exhibitions.22 Therefore, devising engagement activities is generally about thinking up ways to get people to stop and slow down, to take the time to look and experience art. This could take shape in various ways. Depending on the type of art or exhibition, observational drawing or photography, “find this object” or comparison tasks, treasure trails, as well as performance and movement, such as imitating statues or portraiture poses, could be used. What is important is that activities are shaped by the content and those you are engaging. Following the activity, the facilitator will then mediate dialogue, supporting the inclusive curators to review their experience. The facilitator could begin with an openended invitation for thoughts and observations about the activity, asking the group to articulate what they are feeling, or seeing, and how they are making sense of the experience. It may take time for participants to respond, so brace yourself for what may feel like uncomfortable silence. Try not to be tempted to fill that silence with your own thoughts and opinions, as critically, these facilitated discussions are not a lecture which constructs experience for the listener.23 The aim is instead to open up dialogue so that multiple avenues for inquiry emerge organically from their responses and observations. Once the group has reviewed the activity and shared their initial thoughts, the facilitator should next “scaffold” this by discussing what was said. In pedagogy, instructional scaffolding is support offered to the learner. But while conversation is by no means the only way to explore and reflect on art and exhibitions, several researchers such as Catterall,24 Vigotsky,25 and Lave26 have foregrounded the fundamentally social nature of 22  Serrell, “Paying Attention,” 108.

23  Burnham and Kai-Kee, “The Art of Teaching in the Museum,” 69 [my emphasis]. 24  Catterall, “Conversation and Silence,” 3. 25  Vygotsky, Mind in Society.

26  Lave, Cognition in Practice.

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learning, and for people to attain rich learning they generally need to “reflect, discuss, and reflect again.”27 To put this into action, the facilitator could retell the inclusive curator’s observations, valuing their point of view and building on everyone’s desire to talk further about what is interesting to them. Sometimes one observation leads to another or opens up a new area of “looking” or questioning. As museum educators Rika Burnhan and Elliot Kai-Kee neatly summarize: The objective is to follow observations, put descriptive phrases into play, create chains of thought, and respond to questions and comments throughout, advancing some ideas and saving others to be brought back later.28

So, everyone is invited to share ideas, and what is exciting is some will see things others do not; the complexity and nuance of art and curating unfolds. There is always something new to “see.” This spontaneity is what makes facilitation challenging and daunting, but at the same time authentic, exciting, and compelling. There can be no set script to facilitating engagement, and no way of telling how others will react to what they see and experience. No two people see, experience, or unfold works of art in exactly the same way. These counterpoint perspectives are the experiences that act as touchstones to enable inclusive curators to think deeply about interpretation and publics as the project progresses. Posing questions and encouraging others to question is also a valuable scaffolding approach. Why not try out a version of arts Jeopardy!?29 This can be a fun approach to use with groups who need to develop confidence in asking questions. The ability to ask questions is the foundation of inquiry and exploration. When people are able to articulate their own questions, they can begin to take charge of their own learning, with research suggesting that the “information people discover and the directions they take often depend of the questions they ask.”30 Crucially, what might appear like simple questions, conversations, drawings, or actions are in fact a series of meaning-making experiences. This type of “knowing in action” has been seen as a critique of traditional hierarchies of knowledge where theoretical knowledge has enjoyed a privileged position against “problem solving, speculative and ontological types of knowledge where the mode of being or thinking is more intuitive than deductive.”31 The facilitator can also use engagement activities to draw out critical thinking. In the following case study, I share an activity I devised to support inclusive curators to engage with an exhibition’s curatorial concept by seeing the gallery as a “learning machine.” I wanted the group to evaluate the success of this curatorial approach, as well as discuss whether it is the curator’s job to be a kind of “cultural educator.” 27  Catterall, “Conversation and Silence,” 3.

28  Ibid., 70.

29  Jeopardy! is an American television game show. It features a quiz competition in which contestants must phrase their responses in the form of questions. 30  Keller, Erickson, and Villeneuve, Chicano Art for Our Millennium, 155.

31  Jarvis, “Articulating the Tacit Dimension in Artmaking,” 206.



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Clearly groups do not always respond enthusiastically to all engagement activities— and that is to be expected. During research visits for Auto Agents, now and again the inclusive curator’s reactions to an activity would be lukewarm or someone would ask, “can we do something else now?” Comments like these are crucial markers for all facilitators. Just as when facilitators may notice specific techniques resonate with groups, it is as equally important to gauge when an approach is less successful. This will inform how to refine the ways in which to work with the group moving forward, and later down the line, in facilitating artists and museum staff to effectively work with the inclusive curators too, which is important given the finite time frame of their collaboration.

Case Study: A Research Visit to Tate Liverpool

This case study describes a research visit I facilitated to Tate Liverpool during January 2016 with the inclusive curators of Auto Agents. At that time, Tate Liverpool was exhibiting a touring exhibition by Henri Matisse titled Mastisse in Focus (2016), alongside its permanent collection DLA Piper Series: Constellations which formed the initial part of our visit. The latter had been curated to present artworks in “constellations” or clusters, with “trigger” works selected to act as the originating “star” of these constellations because of their “continuous revolutionary effect on modern and contemporary art.”32 Each of the artworks were displayed among a group of artworks that related to them, and to each other, across time and location of origin, encouraging visitors to discover similarities between works of art that at first glance, may seem very different. In the marketing and interpretation of this exhibition there appeared to be an assumption that both the museum and curator has a duty to “educate” visitors. In the exhibition’s press release Tate Liverpool’s then Executive Director Andrea Nixon claimed that the exhibition is “broadening visitors’ knowledge and understanding of modern and contemporary art,”33 and former Artistic Director Francesco Manacorda, envisioned the museum as a “learning machine,”34 claiming the exhibition will “encourage visitors to ‘join the dots’ between artworks.”35 This echoed curatorial practices in the nineteenth century (practices that dominated well into the twentieth century), “perceiving visitors to be deficient, lacking knowledge and in need of instruction.”36 Although attitudes have changed,37 there is still a sense in which curators appear to be responsible for providing special insight and knowledge to museum visitors who require “cultural education.” I was curious to know how the inclusive curators would respond to this curatorial approach and whether an exhibition curated based on making links between art—historic, genre, political—would present a barrier for them. Did they agree that the cura32  Tate Liverpool, “DLA Piper Series: Constellations,” unpag.

33  Ibid.

34  Manacorda, “For Whom Do We Write Exhibitions?,” unpag. 35  Ibid.

36  Robbins, “Engaging with Curating,” 151. 37  Hein, Learning in the Museum.

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Figure 3: Eddie’s sketchbook, 2016

tor should be a kind of cultural educator? In preparation for our visit to Tate Liverpool, following a recce, I had designed some engagement activities for the group to explore these questions. Responding to the exhibition’s concept of “joining the dots between art,” for our first activity I asked the group to find two artworks which they thought had something in common, to sketch, and describe them. Here, I wanted to see if the Tate Liverpool’s intention of presenting artworks in “clusters” was successful for the group, and to see the connections they would make on their own. Leah chose a series of nine black and white Untitled (1991) photographs by Victor Burgin and a piece titled Walking Dream with Four Foot Clamp (1965) by Jim Dine. At first, Leah said they were both artworks in black and white and that was her connection. But when I returned to further discuss this with Leah after she had been sketching a while, she had then noticed that the two pieces also featured legs. I had not spotted that one of the photographs in the Burgin series was a close up of a woman’s legs. She also told me they both were “made up of parts.” I was not sure what she meant by this at first, but later I observed that the painting of legs was actually not one canvas, but a triptych. Both artworks Leah had selected comprised sections of images arranged to appear as a whole. Hannah spent a lot of time drawing her first artwork which was a painting of a bedroom. Hannah struggled to understand the instructions to find something in connection to it and did not recognize the curators intended connection (described in the explanatory text) to involve style of painting. However, with one-on-one support Hannah spotted a painting detailing the inside of a window, and so both of her selected artworks



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were paintings of domestic settings. In this one-on-one support as a facilitator, I was supporting someone to navigate a decision-making process. In this instance, Hannah needed support to break down the question of “finding two artworks with something in common.” Hannah needed further support to think beyond what the artwork depicted, to thinking about what it could mean or the context in which it was made. In contrast, Eddie selected a Christo sketch titled Christo’s Valley Curtain (For Colorado) (1971) depicting one of his famous swathes of material in a landscape (see fig. 3). The similar artwork he chose was Man Ray’s L’Enigme d’Isidore Ducasse (1920, remade 1972), which essentially is a sewing machine wrapped in material and tied with string. Eddie was interested in the similar use of material but more so in the concepts of “hiding” and concealing. He asked a lot of questions about both of the artists’ intentions behind using the material and I sensed that for him there was a real connection in the “why” behind the artwork. This activity enabled Eddie to express his aesthetic and conceptual interest in fabric and concealment. In hindsight, it was serendipitous that one of the artists interviewed for the commission later proposed an idea that involved concealing mechanical sculptures with material. Tony had a slightly different approach and chose to sketch the first artwork simply because he really liked it. It was a modern sculpture made of plastic which to him resembled a clock. After completing his sketch, he then decided to draw a wire and bronze sculpture. I assumed Tony had selected the second artwork because it too was a sculpture but instead, he said that he had chosen it as it was “futuristic” and modern “like the modern clock.” Tony seemed to be placing his own narrative on the sculptures, deciding on what they looked like, and what they could be from the future. The concept underpinning the DLA Piper Series: Constellations exhibition is that art is connected, whether via artistic movements, time periods, politics, or technique; the underlying implication is this exhibition would offer visitors insight and education into these connections. Many curators employ this approach in that they curate work in a way so that the art “talks” to each other. This was a key skill for our group to identify and develop. However, this desired curatorial approach did not entirely work for the inclusive curators. They made no connections between genres, times periods, artistic style, or artist collectives in the way the exhibition intended. Instead the group focused on connections between materials, texture, colour, and narrative, making interesting, not obvious, connections drawn from personal experiences. On the whole, their connections emerged from observable physical forms and stories which gave me a useful insight into how to approach working with the group. From this I sensed the group would be able to relate to artists and their work if I used personal experience as the starting point. We headed upstairs to see the next floor of the same exhibition for which I had a new activity planned. I asked the group to select and sketch one artwork—one artwork they did not like and would take out of the exhibition if given the opportunity. As Lucy Worsley, chief curator of Historic Royal Palaces, warns: “People think curating just means choosing nice things. But this is only half of it.”38 This activity is my tried and tested approach in drawing out critical skills with groups. On this occasion, the activity proved 38  Worsley, “‘People Think Curating Just Means Choosing Nice Things’,” unpag.

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very difficult. They all said they liked everything and “everything is good.” I found this, and still find it hard to believe! I rarely like everything in an exhibition, there is usually an edit, however small, I would make. Their reaction, however, did not surprise me. Groups of people labelled as intellectually-disabled often have difficulty in expressing opinions about things they do not like. But why is this the case? Is it due to a lack of critical skills? Could they be feeling uneasy about criticizing the “authority” of the museum? Or is it because when they have previously expressed dislikes or negative emotions these have sometimes been dismissed under the umbrella of “challenging behaviour”? Valerie Sinason, child psychotherapist and adult psychoanalyst specializing in intellectual disability, proposed a theory in the early 1990s called the “handicapped smile.”39 This term refers to the habit of compliancy, happiness and smiling despite pain or negative emotions, in order to be accepted and to maintain the status quo. This “outward sign of a psychic defence”40 guards and disguises pain and discomfort (for themselves and for others), “the body attempting to make a self-effacing apology for the mind within.”41 I was not convinced that this was necessarily the case here, whilst recognizing that some people will find it harder to express dislike than others, it was clear that as we looked at the role of the curator we also needed to develop ideas of critical engagement. With some support, everyone did choose something that they would take out of the exhibition. It was here I identified something important in terms of my facilitation. I learnt I needed to think carefully on how I frame critical questions to the group. Instead of asking the inclusive curators what they did not like and automatically polarizing their opinions, I instead asked; “which one would you edit out?” or “which one doesn’t work for what you’re trying to say at the moment?” I took this approach forward when the group were required to make selections or edits; clearly, “liking” and “disliking” are too simplistic for curating. As curator and director of London’s Whitechapel Art Gallery Iwona Blazwick believes, as curators, “we don’t want our personal tastes and peccadilloes to get in the way” of including a “diversity of artistic creativity.”42 Finally, we visited the Henri Matisse exhibition. I had devised an engagement activity whereby the inclusive curators were asked to “write or draw in their sketch books what’s included in this art exhibition?” What could they find in the gallery and why was it there? Entering the gallery, the artwork The Snail (1953) flooded the room with colour. Carefully positioned opposite the artwork, a film43 was playing on loop without any sound. It depicted the artist in a wheelchair cutting paper with large scissors, which he carefully arranged and glued to a white background with the help of an assistant. “I really like this” said Eddie pointing at the film, “But who’s the fella with the scissors?” “That’s Henri Matisse,” I replied. “That’s whose exhibition it is and whose artwork is in the gallery. Can you see he’s making a similar piece to that one over there?” I gesture to 39  Sinason, Mental Handicap and the Human Condition.

40  Lloyd, “Speaking through the Skin,” 63. 41  Fonagy, “Reviews,” 118.

42  Millard, The Tastemakers, 109. 43  Rossif, Matisse (rushes).



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The Snail. “So, what do you think of the film then?,” I asked curiously. “Yeah, I like it. It just works, doesn’t it? Tells you everything. I’d like one of these films in our show.” All of the inclusive curators recorded vast amounts of information on items they saw inside the Matisse exhibition; however, The Snail and its accompanying film emerged as a key feature for the inclusive curators in the research. They each recorded it in their sketchbooks, and Eddie in particular raved about the film’s ability to “explain the art.” This encounter proved to be a significant moment. Later in the project this piece of research enabled the inclusive curators to articulate their decision to employ a nontextual approach to interpretation and use film for their own upcoming exhibition. This example is one that the inclusive curators frequently returned to in response to the question of interpretation and giving their own exhibition meaning and context for visitors. Throughout the project, they felt this was the most successful example of museum interpretation they encountered.

Learning About Each Other: Activities and Approaches

While preparatory research into museums, exhibitions, artists, and artworks is central, getting to know each other, both in terms of the inclusive curatorial group and wider museum staff, is also critical early on. Previous inclusive curatorial projects I have facilitated have typically been curated by newly formed groups of inclusive curators. In the case of Auto Agents, the inclusive curatorial opportunity was advertised amongst the memberships of the two partner organizations (Bluecoat and Halton Speak Out) and people applied to take part. This meant that once the project launched, as a facilitator I needed to support a group of people who had scarcely met before and progress from there to undertake a complex and sustained collaboration. Considerable effort was undertaken to ensure we got along as a group, had fun together, and had mutual respect and understanding of each individual’s opinions and contributions. Yet even if the facilitator is working with an established community group to inclusively curate, it is useful to realize that while individuals may know each other as neighbours, acquittances, or friends, they may not know each other as well as colleagues or collaborators. So, facilitating some “getting to know you” type of activities provides individuals with opportunities to express their personal background and motivations for participating in the project, as well as establishing a shared understanding of how people work best and what they perceive as important. This information will not only benefit the inclusive curators as a cohort, but also help the facilitator shape their approach. Maureen Boyd, Christopher J. Jarmark, and Brian Edmiston describe building a classroom community as like creating a “bridge of commonality that connects people in a group while bridging differences among them.”44 This is a helpful way of thinking about supporting inclusive curatorial groups. Significantly, just because individuals identify collectively as a community, this does not mean they necessarily share the same views, experiences, or perspectives. As we touched upon in the introduction, “community” is a fluid idea, so providing ways for people to articulate their differences and who they are 44  Boyd et al., “Building Bridges,” 330.

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on their own terms is a key part of the facilitator’s role. Let me now describe different approaches to support groups to get to know each other. These are all creative and participatory activities that can be moulded to suit individual groups. How We Work Together

A good place to start is generating ground rules or perhaps better described as, “how we work together.” Have you ever attended a meeting or workshop where things seemed to go sideways? Perhaps timings ran over, your ideas were not listened to, discussions went off on tangents, or worse, they got heated? One of the key roles of a facilitator is to guide workshops and meetings. Generating something as simple as ground rules at the beginning can help keep activities on track and maintain a positive, respectful environment. But rather than trying to impose a set of “rules” on a group, it is much more productive and effective to co-produce these together as a blueprint for how best to collaborate. Some common examples one may wish to consider include: –– Arrive on time

–– Participate and engage –– Listen to others

–– Value the diversity of opinions in the group: there’s not always a right or wrong, good or bad –– Critique is important, but be constructive –– Be open and honest

–– Attack the problem, not the person –– Phones on silent Identikit

–– Support staff must join in

One of the pioneers, perhaps unduly recognized, of contemporary therapeutic photography in the United Kingdom is art and drama teacher Keith Kennedy. Kennedy worked at the Henderson Psychiatric Hospital in the 1970s where he formulated what he called “Group Camera” as well as a number of facilitated activities to empower and support patients there.45 I had the profound pleasure to be taught by Kennedy as a student at the University of Brighton; his “Identikit” activity remains a firm fixture in my own practitioner’s toolbox. The basic principle of the identikit is to create a collection of images and objects that express who you are as a person. Kennedy used photography to do this but incorporating other types of art-making as well as collecting objects into the activity can widen the scope for expression. An identikit might comprise, for example, a self-portrait, an image of your home, important possessions, work-related items, notable places, family, and memories. People might bring in old photographs, maps of their birthplace, 45  Dennett, “Jo Spence’s Camera Therapy,” 31.



Facilitating Research

Tool 2: Community Mapping Activity

Community Mapping

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cherished letters and certificates, clothing of family members, and ephemera like bus or cinema tickets. Facilitators can provide participants with a box to fill with their artworks and objects and set a deadline by which to share the contents of their box with the wider group. The identikit activity could be run over a single workshop but is more effectively run over several weeks to give participants the opportunity to bring items in as a visual record. This is an activity that is not just about getting to know people through a series of images and objects. It is also a gentle exercise in curating that enables people to select, display, and interpret a body of items in relation to who they are.

“Community Mapping” aims to capture the “circles” of support around a person, from the ones closest to them like family, home, work, and key workers, moving outwards towards the wider community and resources. This activity is useful as it helps identify who and what is important to a person, enabling them to articulate their sense of community at that time using a visual representation of relationships, networks, and resources.46 This activity can also feed into planning because it supports people to discover which relationships and networks can be strengthened or supported, or can be used as a way for a person to trace and reflect on their networks as a type of “systems thinking”47 or “system mapping.” In participatory action-research, this approach is used with groups to identify complex systems of information “to depict specific patterns and dynamics which shed light on the wider dynamics.” It can be interesting to have groups compare and contrast their maps. This activity could be done on paper like the template below or undertaken as a more physical and participatory task by mapping out communities on the floor or wall using string or tape. It can also be adapted to explore the networks and relationships surrounding a curator. By changing the word at the centre from “me” to “curator” on the template, this approach can then be used to explore the curator’s networks and place within the “system” of the museum. 46  Hall et al., “A Toolkit for Participatory Action Research,” 7.

47  Burns, Systemic Action Research.

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Jigsaw Skills “Jigsaw Skills” aims to enable people to articulate their key skills and learn how as a group their combined skills fit together and could operate as a “whole.” This is a short but effective activity. It can include not just the inclusive curators and facilitator, but the wider networks at play when curating such as the museum staff and artists. Jigsaw Skills also can also be used as a type of professional development tool, helping to identify areas of skill where people feel under­confident. One-Page Profiles

“One-Page Profiles” is a useful activity in supporting groups to learn about each other as individuals. Typically found in social care or health contexts, a one-page profile seeks to capture all the important information about a person on a single sheet of paper under three simple headings: what is important to them, what they like, and how they want to be supported. Producing one-page profiles aims to support inclusive curators (and the wider museum team) to represent themselves and their priorities in an easily shareable format. They are a simple, concise way of communicating important information about an individual and are driven towards discovering people’s strengths and attributes, understanding what is truly important to them and then how to deliver support or work together in a way that makes sense to them. I adapted the traditional forTool 4: One-Page Profiles Tool 3: Jigsaw Skills



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Figure 4: Leah’s One-Page Profile, 2016

mat of a one-page profile to be more applicable in artistic contexts with headings reading: “Art I like,” “How best to work with me,” “What’s important to me.” One-page profiles can be a valuable resource to refer to when decision making during disputes. Facilitators can ask: does the decision you are making respect everyone’s values as captured on the one-page profiles?

Summary

Curators conduct research in many different ways, but one of the most accessible and inclusive methods is through preparatory research visits: privileging relational encounters and engagement over more traditional desk-based investigation. However, relational, active, and dynamic approaches to facilitating research requires significant levels of preparation, knowledge, and planning on part of the facilitator and demands diligent organization and excellent reflexive skills. Crucially, while supporting others on their journey of research, facilitators must also temper the desire to share their own experience and instead offer openness to observations and interpretations that come from completely new places. This chapter has outlined five engagement activities to support inclusive curating groups to get to know each other, highlighting the importance

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of establishing common ground, as well as differences in opinion leading to a shared understanding of how people work best and what they perceive as important in the project. In this chapter’s case study, we witnessed how the inclusive curators of Auto Agents interpreted two quite different exhibitions at Tate Liverpool. Specifically, we hae seen how the group grappled with activities that prompted critical engagement, as well as how interest in film emerged as a beneficial interpretative device in exhibitions.

Chapter 2

FINDING THE “BIG IDEA” Once inclusive curators have undertaken research and began bonding as a group, they can now begin formulating the exhibition’s “big idea”; exploring what their exhibition will be about or what topics or issues might it address. In principle, there are endless sources for exhibition ideas but, in practice, they are much more limited.1 There is also no one set method to facilitate inclusive curators to develop their big idea: some people may sign up for inclusive curating projects with a clear understanding of the topics or issues that they wish to address but, for others, the process can be much more exploratory and emergent. What seems to be common is that the big idea typically emerges from the inclusive curators identifying shared experiences or perspectives through looking towards their own lives, identities, or common causes, which may differ from or challenge the dominant narrative of the museum. One of the ways I have enabled curating to become more inclusive and accessible is by drawing on existing tools and approaches from other sectors, namely social care. This chapter describes using the person-centred planning tool “PATH” (an acronym for Planning Alternate Tomorrows with Hope). PATH is normally found in social care practices as an approach to undertake group planning to support the core goal. In addition, this chapter also foregrounds zine making, a do-it-yourself publishing practice, as a methodology to enable inclusive group discussion and reflection. Case studies are shared from Auto Agents that illustrate how creating a zine about their life experiences as intellectuallydisabled people who need support enabled them to develop the title of their exhibition.

The “Big Idea”?

Some curators begin their exhibition development process by identifying and developing and a “big idea.” In my experience, this is an accessible concept for inclusive curators and works well to support them in refining their exhibition’s subject-matter. In brief, “the big idea” is an approach developed by exhibition consultant Beverly Serrell outlined in her foundational text, Exhibit Labels: An Interpretative Approach. The big idea is “a sentence—a statement—of what the exhibition will be about. It is one complete, noncompound, active sentence, that identifies a subject, an action (the verb) and consequence (so what?).”2 The big idea works to provide an “unambiguous focus for the exhibit team throughout the exhibit development process by clearly stating in one noncompound sentence the scope and purpose of an exhibition.”3 Furthermore, Serrell suggests that a big idea has “fundamental meaningfulness that is important to 1  Doering, The Making of Exhibitions, 6.

2  Serrell, Exhibit Labels: An Interpretive Approach, 7. 3  Ibid.

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human nature.”4 This is also called the “so what?,” that is to say, why should visitors care about the big idea? How will it resonate with their lives? Importantly, the big idea is an approach that works to support museum staff to delineate what will and will not be an exhibition and is primarily a tool for the exhibition team, and not visitors. Therefore, having a big idea does not mean it must be explicitly communicated within the exhibition itself, it is there to provide meaning, coherence, and structure for the wider team as the exhibition takes shape. Developing Parameters for the “Big Idea”

As well as introducing the concept of the big idea, it is also advisable that facilitators establish parameters. Curating is not a wholly theoretical practice; it was once described by former Tate Director Nicholas Serota as “20% flair and imagination and 80% administration,”5 which neatly emphasizes the importance of strong project management and administrative skills. Though you cannot make a successful exhibition without that twenty percent creativity and flair, you can certainly compromise a great idea if you cannot deliver it practically. Exhibitions are constrained by time, resources, and budgets and will involve a greater network outside the inclusive curators to deliver it. It is necessary during the early stages of developing the big idea to determine any limitations or restrictions to what the big idea might be or could involve. Limitations are conventionally viewed as “bad,” but they can be turned to advantage. Very few curators have complete free rein over developing exhibitions and most are required to work within parameters set by institutions, funders, and collaborating artists. In Jo Freeman’s classic essay “Tyranny of the Structurelessness,”6 she describes how explicit parameters and structures work to better enable action and participation. Freeman reflects on the experiments of the feminist movement in resisting the idea of leaders and even discarding any structure or division of labour. She suggests that for everyone to have the opportunity to be involved in any given group and to participate in its activities the structure and boundaries “must be explicit, not implicit.” That said, parameters should be established collectively. If museums attempt to impose parameters onto inclusive curators without their input, they may rightly feel their autonomy over the exhibition has been undermined resulting in what Lynch describes as “empowerment-lite.”7 Disagreement is inevitable in any negotiation of parameters and should not be viewed or treated as inherently problematic. Conversely, conflict should be considered as an integral part of the process that works to challenge conformity and fixity of thought.8 Conflict can be constructive. It can make visible counterpoints, anxieties, and different ways of being. The facilitator, as Freeman suggests, must ensure the rules of 4  Ibid.

5  George, The Curator’s Handbook, 57.

6  Freeman, “Tyranny of the Structurelessness,” unpag. 7  Lynch, “Reflective Debate,” 2.

8  Marstine, The Routledge Companion to Museum Ethics, 7.



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decision-making are “open and available to everyone, and this can happen only if they are formalized.”9 Of course, differences in opinion may not just occur between museum staff and inclusive curators but between the inclusive curators themselves and within institutions too. The first and most obvious parameter is establishing the budget. How much money is available will be an unavoidable determining factor in the scale and scope of an exhibition. Budget will influence the scale of works to be commissioned, or if new work will be commissioned at all. It will affect installation costs, marketing, or how much funding the group can spend on research visits. That is not to suggest that the quality of the exhibition is proportional to the finance available.10 The key thing here is that museum staff and facilitators must be transparent with the budget and resources available. When inclusively curating Auto Agents, as the facilitator I was clear from the first planning session how much money we had to spend on the project and if any of that budget had already been allocated. I presented the elements of the budget in percentages that could easily be turned into visual diagrams. From this, the group spotted that the project had a relatively small budget for commissioning. It was then identified at the outset that they wished to apply for further funding for a more ambitious commission and exhibition catalogue. The inclusive curators fed ideas into funding bids and understood that unless a bid was successful, they would need to scale back their vision. Time is a clear restraint. Museums, big or small, programme many months, if not years, in advance. It is likely that firm dates will already be determined for the exhibition, meaning that all work, commissions, interpretation, and marketing must be completed within a specific time-frame. This means establishing the availability of artists, technicians, or the time commitment of museum staff to the project, and ensuring exhibition plans are not overly ambitious and can be completed on time.11 Less obviously, inclusive curators should be supported to ascertain whether the exhibition is required to speak to a particular mission statement or institutional remit. Many museums have a list of written objectives, institutional goals tailored to their overall mission. These govern and influence the daily work of the museum and provide context for the locale where the exhibition will exist.12 Again, such parameters help to provide a starting point. In terms of Auto Agents, Bluecoat’s staff provided clear parameters to the inclusive curators in that the exhibition had to be contemporary artwork by early- or mid-career artists, as that was its organizational purpose and mission linked to their status as a charity.

9  Freeman, “Tyranny of the Structurelessness,” unpag.

10  Belcher, Exhibitions in Museums, 39. 11  Hughes, Exhibition Design, 34.

12  Belcher, Exhibitions in Museums, 5.

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Planning Using PATH PATH is a trusted tool and method used to work with inclusive curatorial groups to establish parameters and plan the exhibition. Person-centred planning is a set of approaches designed to assist an individual to plan people’s life and supports.13 It was adopted in 2001 as government social policy in the United Kingdom through the Valuing People White Paper14 and aimed to offer an alternative to traditional types of social care planning, which were typically based upon the medical model of disability15 that assessed need, allocated services, and made decisions for people. By contrast, person-centred planning is instead rooted in the social model of disability16 and aims to empower people who have traditionally been disempowered by “specialist” or segregated services by handing power and control back to them17 “through a facilitated process.”18 Personcentred planning is normally used for life planning with people with intellectual disabilities, but it has also been advocated as a method of planning personalized support with many other groups who find themselves disempowered by traditional methods of service delivery. PATH is an activity that aims to enable people to develop goals for their future based on their dreams, implementing backwards planning to create a step by step “path” to achieving that goal. According to Helen Sanderson Associates, a prominent person-centred planning agency, “PATH is there when a situation is complex and will require concerted action, engaging other people and resources, over a longish period in order to make an important vision real.”19 The developers of PATH, Jack Pearpoint, John O’Brien, and Marsha Forest claim that PATH is a tool for “diverse people, who share a common problem or situation to align […] their purposes […] their understanding of their situation and its possibilities for hopeful action […] their action for change, mutual support, personal and team development and learning.”20 The traditional PATH process has eight steps: The Dream; Sensing the Goal; Now; Enrol; Building Strengths; Three-Month Goals; Six-Month Goals; First Steps. These are intended to help individuals to “understand their current situations, recognize that there are people around them who will help and support them achieve their goals” and “how they can build their strength, or capabilities.”21 PATH utilizes a structured planning 13  (UK) Department of Health, Personalisation through Person-Centred Planning. 14  (UK) Department of Health, Valuing People.

15  The medical model of disability proposes people are disabled by their impairments or differences. Disability lies with the individual and their impairment is seen as their “problem” to be “cured.”

16  The social model of disability proposes that disability is caused by the way society is organized, rather than by a person’s individual impairment or difference. 17  Hunter and Ritchie, Co-Production and Personalisation in Social Care.

18  Pipi, “The PATH Planning Tool and its Potential for Whānau Research,” 2. 19  Helen Sanderson Associates, “PATH,” unpag. 20  Ibid.

21  Walton and Dennison, “Person-Centred Care in Practice,” 33.



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Figure 5: Example of Adapted PATH

process whereby each step is worked through in a systematic way. It uses the notion of the principle of “begin with the end in mind” and starts by creating the dream or ideal picture, and then moves to imagining the achievement of some specific things by a certain timeframe. To reflect the task of curating an exhibition I have adapted these steps from the original PATH to: Now, Who Can Help, Building Strengths, Half-Way Goal, Final Steps, The Exhibition.

Tool: Employing PATH to Curate an Exhibition PATH is a facilitated group planning approach; it is only effective when all members of the inclusive curating team—inclusive curators, facilitator, artists, museum staff, technicians—come together. The first task for facilitators to prepare for a PATH is to organise and coordinate a time when everybody can attend the PATH planning session. On the day of the PATH session, the facilitator will also need to set up the room. My preferred set up is pinning six large pieces of paper onto the wall—each page labelled with each step, arranging chairs in a semi-circle with a table for drinks and snacks. Set up time: 20 minutes, Activity time: 90 minutes What to Do The facilitator begins by explaining the process and aim of PATH, making clear that everyone is invited to contribute. The inclusive curators are then invited to describe their “dream” and “big idea” for The Goal: The Exhibition step. At this stage, the facilitator’s job is to draw out their vision. Together, the group needs to build a picture of what they are hoping to achieve, however improbable it might appear. For instance, I once had an inclusive curator say they wanted the Queen to attend their exhibition’s opening. This

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was not possible, but we did instead invite another public dignitary—a local councillor. It is critical not to dismiss a person’s vision but instead work to understand the underlying reasons for that person’s interests. Through this process, creative ways to develop and incorporate a person’s interests can often be found.22 The facilitator can write all of these ideas onto the paper, or they could pass around “Post-It” notes on which people can write themselves. Once the goal of the exhibition has been established, the group will need to workshop each step on the PATH in order to get there. The next step Now supports the group to generate a snapshot of the current situation compared with the ideal, a “reality check” of where they are now in relation to where they want to be. Everyone present should contribute and explain what they are currently working on—this builds up shared appreciation and knowledge of how different aspects of an exhibition team come together. The next step is Who Can Help? This step recognizes that others may want to be enrolled in the vision and assist along the way. This step also supports the group to consider specifically who else they might bring on board and what specific contribution they may want from them. The Building Strengths step focuses on identifying areas for skill and knowledge development to support the team to reach the goal. This step is akin to a strengths, weaknesses, opportunities, and threats analysis (SWOT) whereby the participants take stock of three aspects—skills, knowledge, and relationships—and consider the barriers that might hinder the realization of their goal. This step is important at promoting both personal and collective responsibility. In the past, curators have flagged desires to learn more about how individual departments in museums work, such as marketing, or to build personal skills, like public speaking. Museum staff have voiced wanting to learn different types of communication skills, like Makaton, a sign and symbol language used to help people with additional needs communicate. The following two steps Half-Way Goal and Final Steps aim to support the group to determine specific milestones to be achieved, and in the process consider fixing certain set dates while individuals may be delegated responsibilities. For example, a half-way goal may be selecting artists, a final-step goal may be developing a press release. Once the PATH process is complete, the facilitator photographs the pages and writes up the outcomes for circulation throughout the group as a record. Typically, I undertake PATHs quarterly throughout the project to promote collaboration and to capture the different stages and priorities of curating an exhibition. PATH Template with Hint Questions

PATH is a valuable activity to make planning and organization more participatory and dynamic. When curating Auto Agents, the group enjoyed doing PATH exercises and although they were undertaking a planning exercise, the group was always energized and enthused afterwards. From undertaking PATHs regularly, it also became apparent that the members frequently forget about the interpretative function of the exhibition. 22  French and Jones, “Positive You,” 198.



Finding the “Big Idea”

Tool 5: PATH

47

They rarely factored in that they would need to devise a strategy to help visitors understand and relate the exhibition. This was a crucial marker for me as a facilitator. While PATH is a great planning tool, it can also be used to help facilitators gauge how the curators are understanding and perceiving the curatorial process. During one PATH with the inclusive curators of Auto Agents, I decided to prompt a discussion about the question of interpretation. “How do you like to be interpreted?,” curator Diana questioned artist James. James smiled and replied, “Well, a curator has never asked me that before!” James explained he was happy and relieved that Diana had asked that, as “it’s not very nice when curators explain your work without you being involved.” “Oh no,” Eddie said, “we won’t be doing that!” Eddie then began describing to James the video in the Matisse in Focus exhibition which we described in the previous chapter. “I’d like to do something like that.” James agreed that this was a productive way to tell the

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audience about his work. Artist Mark agreed too and suggested it might be interesting to ask if we can film at the printers to show people how the book was made. The group loved this idea. They all continued to discuss different things they could film, who could help, and what effect this could have on visitors. James said that maybe we could show some of these films on old televisions, perhaps to build on the “factory” feel of his piece. “I like that,” said Leah. Observing this conversation unravelling was exhilarating. This moment encapsulates much of what I hoped that project could achieve; collaborations between artists and inclusive curators that re-think traditional curated exhibitions.

Case Study: Zining as a Research Tool

In our first reflective workshop following several research visits to local museums and artist studios, I decided to use zining as a way to reflect on and discuss the visits to date. The inclusive curators were seated around a large table ready to begin. “Today I thought we would think about our visits by making zines. Has anyone come across zines before?” I began. “Zines?!” roared Eddie, “You’ve made that word up, haven’t you?,” he teased with a grin. The group erupted into laughter. It was not quite the reaction I was anticipating. Though zines remain unfamiliar to many, they have become increasingly commonplace in the work of many museums and cultural institutions. Originally born out of fandom; particularly sci-fi, music, sport, and reworkings of pop-culture iconography, zines (pronounced “zeens”) are self-published, low-budget, non-profit, do-it-yourself (DIY), print publications. There are no hard and fast rules to what a zine should look like, but they are generally photocopied or uniquely printed booklets, stapled or bound in a creative way, featuring text (typed, collaged, or handwritten) and images (photos, cut and paste from magazines or newspapers, drawings). Once created, zines are distributed in various ways. Sometimes zines are created and distributed with a small niche community of existing friends and other “zinesters,” other times they circulate in and beyond their original communities and can be traded or sold via zine distributors (known as distros), at zine fairs, record shops, and also found in community spaces such as libraries.23 With no regular copy schedule, subscription list, international book numbers, or professional print quality, most cut-and-paste zines circulate through informal distribution networks, which for me, highlights not just their materiality, but zines as “embodied communities.”24 Zining was adopted for multiple reasons. Firstly, I adore zines; reading them, collecting them, swapping them, and of course, making them. I have been zining since I was fourteen years old and they have remained a core part of my practice as both an artist and later as a researcher.25 As well as bringing my own expertise and interests to the group, zines have been a mainstay of the DIY, creative movement, and significantly, are described as a method of “direct democracy.”26 In the late 1970s punk zines became 23  Knobel and Lankshear, “Cut, Paste, Publish.”

24  Piepmeier, “Why Zines Matter,” 214. Cf. Eastern bloc samizdat underground literature. 25  Gander, “Zines,” unpag.

26  Jeppesen, “DIY Zines and Direct-Action Activism,” 264.



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popular in response to the rising popularity of the punk music scene; however they regularly excluded the voices of women and people of colour. Thus, a wave of zines emerged in the 1980s and 1990s around feminism, racism and “all variety of personal and political narratives.”27 Zining and its close relationship to political expression was an apt context for a group of inclusive curators who wanted to explore the links between curating and self-advocacy. In addition, zining collectively provides a kind of “supported dialogue”; the physical activity provides an anchor and starting-point for discussion. Zines are also a highly flexible physical format able to support a wide scope of expression which could include handwritten or typed text, images (sketches, photographs, and found), ephemera and mark-making. There is no “right” or “wrong” way to how zines should look; they are the ultimate “anti-design aesthetic.”28 This is a liberating thought for groups less experienced in making art. Crucially, this visual diversity also enables zines, as Jennifer Sinor describes, to perform the instability of identity and “blur genres” to reproduce the complexity of their subject positions. Zines are uniquely constructed in ways that could be described as intertextual, that is, in ways that highlight the interweaving of social subjects, their relations to and connections and experiences with others in ways that are nonlinear. This is valuable when facilitating inclusive curators to not only reflect on their life and experiences, and all the complexity that entails, but to reconcile this plurality of experiences and viewpoints within one shared activity. Finally, zining is a fascinating research tool in the context of inclusive curating for how it speaks to issues of inclusion and exclusion. Zines can be considered inclusive in that anyone can make one cheaply without technical skill, specialist equipment, or training, and there are no constraints on what they should look like. Consequently, zining is described as a form of “democratic communication.”29 This is valuable in challenging notions of what “knowing” might be and who gets to determine its legitimacy, as opposed to more formal publishing routes which require an institutional review and approval of some kind. Zines offer space for personal and political expression, not commodity. On the other hand, zines can be viewed as exclusionary. They are made with the intention to be distributed amongst a specific niche audience with little regard to attracting an “outside” readership, limiting the social or political impact zines can achieve. This tension is also found in inclusive curating: is the exhibition curated for and with a specific community in mind, or for a more general wider public? Once the group’s laughing calmed down, I began by sharing a selection of zines from my personal collection. The workshop table became covered with zines, including many artist, music, and feminist zines as well as some that were disability-themed. The group were amazed by the sheer variety in scale, colour, and design and were all curious about who had made them. To facilitate “supported looking,” the inclusive curators were invited to spend a few minutes sifting through them. I then suggested we do some 27  Piepmeier, “Why Zines Matter,” 214.

28  Atton, “Popular Music Fanzines,” 518. 29  Ibid.

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Figure 6: Auto Agents zine, 2016

rapid-fire sorting games; “Can you sort these zines from largest to smallest in under a minute? … Go!” Everyone scrambled around the table, “Look! It’s tiny—it has to be the smallest one!” shouted Tony, “Are you sure? This one is smaller than my hand!” replied Diana. It took a little longer than a minute, but the group sorted the zines across the floor of the studio. The line was so long it snaked around the table. “Do you want to have a go at making one?” I asked? And with an enthusiastic “yes,” we began. I selected the starting-point for our first zine: “What’s inside an art exhibition?,” which was based on an engagement activity from a recent research visit to a museum. With little prompting they came up with responses: staff, artwork, information labels, and with the help of their sketchbooks, they were able to contribute more. We wrote down these responses and from them created an A5-sized zine. The group approached this task by selecting a response such as “labels on the wall,” and then searched through old newspapers and magazines to find images or words they felt corresponded with it. Using this traditional cut-and-paste method meant that what is created is shaped by the materials present at that time. Once the pictures and words were collected, the group members began arranging and editing them on a page. Leah’s first zine page (above) was particularly striking. In response to the zine’s topic of “what’s inside an art exhibition?,” Leah created a page around “artwork” for which she selected an image of painted women along with a number of words including “status.” This immediately caught my attention. I asked Leah why she had chosen to include the word “status” and she replied, “it means you’re important.” Throughout the project Leah in particular was keenly aware that curators and museum professionals are rarely, if ever, intellectually disabled, and that being a curator denoted a position of importance in the museum. “People don’t think we can do a job like [curating], that’s why it’s important we tell people we’re curators,” she explained, while delicately tearing



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out more pages from a magazine. During this zining session it was evident that for Leah potential exists in the role of a curator to bring about change; I was curious to see how this might inform Leah’s approach to curating. Diana also created a fascinating zine page. She spent much of the activity flipping through magazines affirming, “I’ll know what I need when I see it.” Diana carefully assembled a number of words and phrases cut from magazines onto the page which included “art talk,” “debating,” “new ways of seeing,” “staff,” and “news spotlight.” Alongside this text, she also hand-drew an image of a person and wrote “Jeanine Tate Visitor Assistant” in thick black marker. “Would you like to tell me about your zine page?,” I asked Diana. “Yeah, can do. This is Jeanine, she helped me in the exhibition with writing and reading. We talked a lot and she was [nice]. She’s not from Liverpool she’s a student.” I suddenly remembered that Diana had spent a lot time talking to various staff on the research visits. “Oh yes, I remember you both chatting in the gallery. What kinds of things did you talk about?” “The exhibition.” replied Diana. “She read out the writing and she told me about his [the exhibiting artist’s] life.” This moment was significant. What Diana brilliantly observed and then reflected on during zining was the importance of front-of-house staff in interpretation. I opened the discussion out to the rest of the group. “What do we think of Diana’s experience?” I asked. “Well we need people doing that for our show, don’t we?” suggested Eddie, “People to help you out and show you around. Should we write it on the plan?”

ACTIVITY Facilitating Zining

There are many of different ways to make a zine, I recommend the traditional “cut and paste” method as it is hands-on and uses cheap materials. This approach works best with lots of different materials like newspapers, magazines, ephemera (museum brochures for example) and scraps of paper, to reuse by cutting up and collaging with. The set-up time for zining is quick but gathering materials might take time so plan in advance. Asking friends, family, colleagues and neighbours to save newspapers, magazines and nice papers from their recycling is an affordable way to gather supplies, as well as inviting inclusive curators to contribute their own materials too. Set up time: 15 minutes, Activity time: 60–90 mins What to Do –– Ideally, gather participants around one large table together. Begin by arranging the room so everyone can work on one table with enough space. –– Rather than placing the materials into one big pile in the middle, divide the collaging materials into trays, provide glue and scissors across the table so each person can comfortably reach them.

–– Next prepare blank zine pages for people to collage their design onto. Thick white A5-sized paper is recommended but any size or colour would work. To make it eas-

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ier for participants and to keep scale correct, the size of paper you give them should be the same size as the zine page when it is printed.

–– Show participants examples of zines and discuss them, include examples of zines that look like the type they will be making for inspiration.

–– Next, invite participants to design zine pages around a topic by collaging a page together like the examples shown above. Print the topic out so they can refer to it if needed. I recommend that participants start by looking through all the materials, cutting out and saving anything that stands out to them. Once they have gathered enough material, they can arrange their design on the page and secure it with glue. They can add hand-drawn illustrations or words on top. Encourage the group to think about design, colour, pattern, and meaning. –– Once the zine page is finished, write the person’s name and date on the back.

–– The facilitator must then compile these pages into a zine. This could be done by photocopying the pages and stapling them together, or by scanning in the pages and arranging them using Photoshop or InDesign software before printing them out. I usually do this after the workshop.

–– Once the zine is completed, the facilitator and group can distribute it. This could be done online using social media or email, copies could be left around the museum for visitors (upon agreement with museum staff), emailed to museum staff, or posted to relevant organizations. Copies could be left out in public spaces like libraries or coffee shops, or given to friends, family, and wider networks. Where the zine is distributed is informed by the intended audience for the zine; who do the inclusive curators want to read it?

Tip

Nominate someone in the group (perhaps whoever finishes first) to create the front cover and introduction to the zine. This can then then be shared and developed with the rest of the group.

Arts-Based Enquiry

Those of us who have worked in the arts know at a “gut” level just how effective arts processes can be as tools for exploration, thinking, and learning. Over recent decades art making, or “arts-based enquiry,” has emerged as a growing mode of generating research where “the arts play a primary role”30 in knowledge-production by drawing on diverse visual, performative, and literary practices as a means of investigation in themselves.31 For me, arts-based enquiry is unique in enabling different ways of interpreting and representing human experience. I would argue, not only is it an incredibly rich way to support research and thinking, it is fun, participatory, and engaging too. 30  Austin and Forinash, “Arts-Based Inquiry,” 458.

31  Rolling, Arts-Based Research Primer.



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The academic field of arts-based enquiry draws on the work of Professor of Art and Education, Elliot Eisner, who advocates that there are multiple ways of “knowing” and that enquiry will be more complete as people increase the range of ways in which they can investigate, describe, reveal, and interpret the world.32 The idea that scientific knowledge is “best” has been fiercely challenged. Many researchers advocate that art allows a different character of research investigation to take place and that the greater array of approaches in addressing questions, the more successful we will be in generating solutions.33 Arts-based enquiry has also been posited as a more direct expression of lived experience particularly with people that might otherwise remain invisible under mainstream approaches.34 The creation of art often draws on personal experience and life history and the art produced tells stories about these lived experiences, described by some as a type of “autobiography.”35 For example, I will always remember when Eddie once quipped, “If a picture is a thousand words, then a memory must be a million pictures. I better get to it!” As Elliott describes, “Art is a neuronarrative archive of liminal experience, holding up a mirror to both subjective and objective features of the experience, allowing us to revisit it, speak about it, and learn from it.”36 In other words, through creating art, we may be better able to represent the experiences of individuals or groups who have been oppressed and marginalized by dominant discourses, allowing them the space to create art and talk about their experiences through it.37 This has certainly been the case for artsbased enquiry undertaken as part of inclusive curatorial projects. Eddie did indeed make many pictures to discuss his memories, an example of which is shared in the case study. Traditional research practices also make distinctions between researchers and researched, “studiers,” and the “studied.” This concern prompted Susan Finley to question how researchers are able to share research findings “without ‘othering’ their research partners or leaving them voiceless in the telling of their own stories”38 This is a central question for facilitators, how can they ensure inclusive curators remain at the centre of their big idea? Arts-based enquiry in contrast is seen as an approach to knowledge production which is “collaboratively made, not found, that in turn loosens the knowledge/power axis involved in knowledge production and expertness.”39 As feminist researchers have long upheld, research is political.40 The ways in which facilitators support inclusive curators to generate their big theme is crucial in terms of not developing a big idea for them. An arts-based enquiry method can support facilitators to explore 32  Eisner, The Enlightened Eye.

33  Rolling, Arts-Based Research Primer, 7. 34  Walsh et al., “Arts-Based Research.”

35  Fraser and Sayah, “Arts-Based Methods in Health Research,” 111. 36  Elliott, “Arts-Based and Narrative Inquiry,” 97. 37  Connelly, “What Body Part do I Need to Sell?” 38  Finley, “Arts-Based Inquiry,” 682.

39  O’Neill, “Transnational Refugees.”

40  McRobbie, “The Politics of Feminist Research.”

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the marginalized, controversial, and disruptive perspectives which are sometimes lost in more traditional methodologies enabling “disruption to the dominant discourses.”41

Case Study: The Exhibition’s “Big Idea” Emerges

After over three months of research visits, an interest in exhibitions that related to personal stories or histories was emerging. During a visit to the Museum of Liverpool, the inclusive curators spent much of their time in Court Housing. This installation aims to provide visitors with an insight into “life in 26 Court, Burlington Street, North Liverpool in 1870.” This was in the Scotland Road area of the city, an overcrowded and neglected area of Victorian Liverpool. Small houses built off dark, narrow courtyards provided cheap housing for the huge numbers of people moving to the city at the time. This proved a memorable installation for the group. There were soundscapes within the installation that brought to life residents’ stories and experiences of living there. At the next meeting the inclusive curators further discussed the issue of housing, and conversations coalesced around issues of independent living and levels of support. Building on this, I invited them to each make an artwork based on the word “independence.” I advised them that they could imagine the word in any way they wanted through any material available in the studio. Below is an example by Hannah. Hannah created a large-scale mixed-media image of a stage with herself on it. The stage is adorned with theatrical plush red velvet curtains and the logo of the Ella (Exclusion Limits Life’s Achievements) Performance Group, of which she is a member. Underneath the stage, seemingly propping it up, are the names of all the people it takes for Hannah to be a performer in Ella. Discussing the piece with Hannah and her supportworker Donna, Hannah feels that Ella is a place where she feels truly independent. However, as Donna pointed out, it is also an area in Hannah’s life where she requires many layers of support to make that happen. Many people are involved to ensure Hannah has experiences of independence: from her family providing transport each week, to financial support to pay the membership fees, to a one-to-one support worker to learn dance routines, stage directions, and scripts, to the volunteers and teachers at Ella. Hannah’s artwork provides a great visual example of the interdependency model of disability.42 In disability studies, independence is not always about removal of barriers but enabling complex networks, which we all need. This artwork would become a useful tool to discuss and reflect on the network of support around the group as inclusive curators later in the project. Tony created an artwork which resembled a map, detailing places around Liverpool which held great importance to him: Bluecoat, his home, Goodison Park football ground, the Albert Dock, his local pub. Woven between the various buildings was himself alone 41  Estrella and Forinash, “Narrative Inquiry and Arts-Based Inquiry,” 376.

42  This model advocates that it is better to describe all persons, whether or not impaired, as “interdependent,” rather than either independent or dependent, which then allows agency, autonomy, and choice to be promoted as a matter of degree for everyone, recognizing how complex social structures and institutions facilitate this process for all.



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Figure 7: Hannah’s artwork exploring autonomy with close-up detail, 2016

in buses and taxis and holding a key. Tony explained how taxis were a recent addition to his life and very important to him as they enable him to travel independently. At that time, he also was learning to use a bus on his own and had recently been given his own house key to further support his independence. For Tony, I sensed that independence was underpinned by feelings of freedom, which for him translated to freedom of movement at this particular time in his life. Eddie’s approach to the activity was different. Instead of creating an artwork which celebrated feelings and examples of independence, his piece depicted a time in his life where he felt he had none. As an older man in his seventies, Eddie spent many years in day services.43 “You did the same thing every day,” Eddie explained to the group. “You couldn’t go nowhere, and you’re not in it [referring to the city centre] you’re just stuck away.” Eddie created an image which portrayed himself “trapped” in the day-service system. In the centre of a black box is a simple white line drawing of himself which seems to peer out of the darkness. Surrounding this is a black frame labelled “day service,” which perhaps represents a building. Around the edges of the image are handwritten words in different colours which read: “claustrophobic,” “frustration,” “a box,” “unsociable,” “sad,” 43  In the UK, day services are a provided by municipally-run social services, the National Health Service and other voluntary organizations, and can encompass a number of activities and facilities for people with additional support needs.

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“not individual,” “confine,” “trapped,” “bored,” “the same”; the list goes on. Eddie began with the words trapped and bored and then used the computer to research words to expand his piece. The younger members of the group, Hannah and Tony were upset by Eddie’s piece, as were Donna and Abi. It was a stark reminder of how intellectually-disabled people were, and sometimes still are, segregated from society. This piece also revealed how the social aspect of the museum was incredibly important to Eddie. In February 2017 to celebrate Bluecoat’s 300th birthday, the centre exhibited Art at the Heart of Bluecoat. This exhibition explored the central role of art at Bluecoat going back over a century, through key personalities, exhibitions, and organizations that found a home in the building. Eddie was one of the “key personalities” featured through a video The Eddie Rauer Spectacular.44 In this interview, Eddie discusses how many friends and acquaintances he has at Bluecoat and how attending the Blue Room project helped him lead a happier and more independent life. During the afternoon of this workshop I decided to change the scheduled activity. Responding to the changed energy in the room after difficult discussions around Eddie’s past experiences, I asked the inclusive curators to collaboratively collage some ideas for the exhibition theme, perhaps around independence, as that had become a topic of real interest. This was intended to move away from oral discussions which the group seemed weary with, into a task which was about making. Changing planned activities to respond to the group’s needs is one of the great challenges of facilitation. In truth, I was not entirely sure how this activity would pan out. First, I instructed the group they had twenty minutes to look through all of the materials on the table (flyers, magazines, newspapers, etc.) and collect pictures, patterns, and words. By the end of the time slot, a lot of material lay on the table, in fact, too much. I asked the group to take turns editing it down, a useful skill to practise as inclusive curators. “Do we have any which are the same?,” “Are there any you wish to take out?,” “Are there any that confuse you?,” were questions I asked to support the editing process. I then split the group into pairs and asked them to find their favourite pieces of material. I noticed there were some obvious favourites and some arguing began to happen on what would be included. This brief exercise flagged up that when we approached making bigger decisions, I needed to think carefully on how to frame questions and what to do when there is a disagreement. Although the group had so far expressed that they were interested in “independence” as their big idea, to me many of their conversations about independence actually circled around notions of autonomy. “Being your own boss,” “making your own decisions,” “deciding what’s best for you,” speaks directly to issues of self-governance. Autonomy and independence can be considered as synonymous on one level, although there is a subtle difference between the two words. With the term “autonomy,” the main focus is on individual power. With the term “independence,” the main focus is on not being dependent or influenced. Autonomy focuses on the “self” which is also reflected in the term’s etymology from Greek autos. I was faced with an ethical dilemma. Do I as a facilitator introduce the group to new words in an attempt to broaden their self44  See www.youtube.com/watch?v=ACGGYl9IRPQ.



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Figure 8: “Autonomous Agents” collage by inclusive curators, 2016

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expression? Or would this be regarded as “putting words in their mouths”? And, does it really matter what word is used or will their choices of words have a direct effect on the type of artists selected and artwork developed for exhibition? I decided to share with the group the word autonomy and outlined the subtle differences as the group searched for collaging materials, emphasizing that the choice of words was theirs to make. As the inclusive curators continued to search magazines and edit down their choices for the collage, support worker Donna waved me over. “Guess what I’ve found?,” she said, “What, what?” replied Diana. “That word Jade was talking about before. Remember that funny word Jade was talking about before? Autonomy? Look what was in my magazine!” Donna held up a cut-out of a title “Autonomous Agents,” taken from an article. “Oh yeah! Look at that!” shouted Eddie, “Oh my god!” laughed Diana. “It’s meant to be! It’s fate,” said Leah, “we need to put that in the yes pile.” The “autonomous agents” clipping was found in a lifestyle magazine as part of an article about the use of robots in the future.

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The group really enjoyed the serendipity factor of the clipping and they all agreed that it should be the title of the collage, and intriguingly placed it at the top of the piece, even though the majority of the other words and imagines clustered at the side of the page. “Could this be the name of the exhibition?” I asked, “It looks very important as it’s at the top of the page?” “I think it’s a good exhibition name” replied Leah, “autot-y-nomis agents, or however you say it.” “Yeah I like that one” replied Diana, “thingy agents.” I could see an issue emerging; the group had difficulty pronouncing “autonomous” and some members refused to say it all together. “Is it a good idea to call your exhibition something we struggle saying?” I enquired. “That’s a good point,” said Eddie. “We don’t want to look stupid” he said with a laugh. I felt this was a conscious effort on Eddie’s behalf to bring to the surface the “elephant in the room”; their intellectual disabilities and the stigma that is attached to it. For me it was clear that the group understood the meaning of the word autonomous, there were simply difficulties in pronouncing it, which was causing some awkwardness. In self-advocacy contexts simplifying both spoken and written language through “plain language, the use of keywords, short words and sentences” is a key concept for promoting access for intellectually-disabled people.45 “If you find it a mouthful, then we could just shorten it?” I suggested, “How about Auto Agents?” “Yes, I like that!” said Tony. “Better.” This approach to shortening language enabled inclusive curators to use the valuable and complex idea of “autonomy,” but crucially, on their own terms.

Summary

This chapter, “Finding the Big Idea,” explored ways to facilitate inclusive curators and help them devise a curatorial framework for their exhibition. What will their exhibition be about? What concepts or issues will it address? Often these questions are answered by the inclusive curators identifying shared experiences and looking towards their own lives and identities, which, crucially, may differ from or challenge the dominant narrative of the museum. As well as identifying the big idea, inclusive curators must be supported to identify and negotiate limitations and parameters to realizing their big idea. Exhibitions are time, resource, and budget sensitive. During the early stages of developing the exhibition it is necessary to determine any limitations or restrictions to what the big idea might be or could involve. This chapter has also presented PATH, arts-based enquiry, and zine making as possible methodologies to enable group planning, discussion, and reflection on these topics. In the case studies, we have seen how a visit to an exhibition at the Museum of Liverpool, and then reflecting on this experience through zine and art making, supported the inclusive curators to generate their big idea of autonomy. It was also through arts-based enquiry that they were able to work together to select their exhibition title. However, their first choice of exhibition title “Autonomous Agents” was inaccessible for many members of the group. We have also seen the role of the facilitator, me, supporting the inclusive curators to examine the terminology and subsequently shorten it, enabling the group to use the valuable and complex idea of “autonomy” in an inclusive way. 45  Godsell and Scarborough, “Improving Communication for People with Learning Disabilities,” 64.

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ACQUIRING ARTWORK Once inclusive curators have developed their big idea, the focus of the process shifts to acquiring artworks for the exhibition. Curators source artworks through a range of ways. They may select existing pieces of work encountered during research or found in a museum’s collection. They could place an open call whereby they advertise for artists or artworks, or they could commission completely new pieces of artwork. The route curators take will likely be informed by the exhibition’s parameters: time, budget, and resources. Though inclusive curators could use existing work to curate an exhibition, one of the most exciting and dynamic ways of facilitating inclusive curating is supporting inclusive curators to meet, engage, and collaborate with artists directly to select or commission artwork. For the several inclusively curated exhibitions I have facilitated, they all typically comprise both existing and newly commissioned pieces. As this book focuses on inclusive curating in the context of contemporary art, we will concentrate on working with artists and commissioning artwork which is unique to contemporary art curators, rather than the exploration of collections. The commissioning of art is an age-old activity and relationships between artists and those who commission them dates back centuries. Early examples of commissioning tended to take the form of direct patronage from an individual of status to an artist. Around 30 CE for example, the Roman Emperor Nero famously commissioned Famulus to paint his three-hundred room villa as the artist was known for “swiftness and delicacy of touch.”1 Whether artists were commissioned for pleasure, prestige, propaganda, celebration, commemoration, or philanthropy, the act of commissioning art has traditionally been associated with status and considered one of the “highest level of artistic and cultural engagement.”2 Today, commissions are less frequently granted to artists by individual patrons and more commonly by curators through their institutional capacity, enabling artists to create new work by providing them with financial, institutional, and professional support. Many complex challenges are entangled with commissioning art: conceptual, authorial, cultural, ethical, managerial, financial, legal, and even emotional. Equally, there is no single way to commission contemporary art; the approaches to commissioning are as unique and specific as the artworks generated. It is precisely this element of being at the cutting-edge of creativity that makes commissioning such an exciting activity. Commissioning offers a unique opportunity for curators to collaborate closely with artists, and truly bring something new into the museum. One of the world’s most respected private patrons is Cincinnati car-dealer Andy Stillpass, who for over three decades has commissioned artists to make works for his family home.3 Stillpass describes how by commissioning works, “I feel that I am com1  Buck and McClean, Commissioning Contemporary Art, 16.

2  Ibid., 17.

3  Bollen, “Artists in Residence,” unpag.

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missioning experiences. I love the works that have resulted […] but just as important are the memories and the experience of working closely with artists.”4 Here, commissioning art is not simply an individual act by a patron, but a relational one. Like Stillpass, for people involved with inclusive curating commissioning is less about the final product. Instead it is a complex but rewarding process of collaboration that leads to a shared artistic purpose. Where possible, I would recommend including a newly commissioned piece as it opens up a wider scope for artistic and curatorial intervention. Although commissioning is expensive and this can be prohibitive for the budget, only existing artwork is far from cost-free and engenders charges such as an artist fee, installation, insurance, and delivery charges.

Building Networks

Curators of contemporary art have extensive networks and relationships with artists cultivated from years of experience in the sector, and this ability to build relationships is cited as a core competency of the curator’s role.5 It would be near impossible to try and replicate such a network in a matter of months, but what is possible is supporting inclusive curators to meet as many artists as possible (or visit collections) in a bid for them to experience a variety of artistic forms, processes, and approaches. In addition to facilitating inclusive curators in visiting studios and attending events as discussed in chapter one, this could be done through a number of ways. Firstly, through inviting artists to deliver creative workshops for inclusive curators. This can be achieved by directly contacting local artist groups, studios, or art schools. For Auto Agents, on behalf of the group I contacted a large established local artist-led studio called The Royal Standard based in Liverpool,6 and advertised for artists to deliver a two-hour paid workshop with the inclusive curators. I explained that the inclusive curators were looking to meet local artists to develop their artistic networks for curating their exhibition and were open to exploring all types of visual arts practices. As Auto Agents would feature newly commissioned work, it was logical to network with local artists who were able to participate in a high-quality collaboration with the inclusive curators. After contacting The Royal Standard, we selected seven artists to work with the group during this “network” phase. Two of them were selected to provide new commissions, which are further discussed in this chapter’s case studies. In addition to inviting artists to deliver workshops, inclusive curators can also place an open call to reach out to artists. Open calls work best when there is a clear brief for artists to respond to. When I facilitated the inclusively curated exhibition You Are Artists, I am Curator at London’s Hoxton Arches (2013), we advertised for artists via an online open call which attracted nearly eighty, very diverse, applications across the UK. Many of the artists lived some distance away and so communications were conducted primarily online. This presented little opportunity for face-to-face collaboration between the 4  Buck, “A Tale of Pot Luck,” unpag.

5  Anon., “Museum Curator,” unpag.

6  See www.the-royal-standard.com.



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inclusive curators and artists. Open calls should therefore be specific in order to get a useable outcome. They should include all important information from the big idea, to practical information like venue, dates, terms and conditions, rates of pay,7 geographical restrictions, dimensions of artworks sought, and if a particular level of experience or qualifications is desired. Inclusive curators may wish to design an application form to ascertain specific information, or simply request a letter of interest, curriculum vitae, and portfolio. The open call can be emailed directly to studios and galleries or posted online. A number of websites host open calls for artists in the United Kingdom, including Arts Council England jobs, CuratorSpace, A-N, Art Rabbit, ArtQuest, and Art Licks. It is also likely that the host museum will have experience in advertising roles and open calls.

Case Study: Artist-Led Workshops

After contacting artist-led studio The Royal Standard with an invitation for artists to deliver a two-hour paid workshop with the inclusive curators, a few weeks later James Harper visited to work with the group. James, a studio member and a previous director of The Royal Standard, is also an artist and curator at Tŷ Pawb (which translates from Welsh to “Everybody’s House”), Wrexham’s flagship cultural centre. James began his workshop by sharing some of his previous work. For one of his pieces titled Pre-existing Form (2015–present) he had recreated a football, but instead of being hard, it was soft and tactile. James explained that he made this series so people can touch them in museums. The inclusive curators passed the pieces around and felt them, discussing how touching art in galleries could be seen as breaking the rules; “that’s a good thing!” said Eddie. Next, James showed us a gif he had made (a short video clip that repeats itself over and over). Hannah, who perhaps had the most support needs in the group, immediately spotted the gif’s origin and surprised James with her pop-culture knowledge. The gif was from the film Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and had been taken from the scene where the lucky golden ticket winners are inside the inventing room in awe of Willy Wonka’s original ideas. Hidden under sheets—to keep his ideas concealed—is machinery moving suspiciously beneath the sheets. James explained that his interest in this inventing-room scene was because the machinery was hidden; it was a mystery. “Using this gif is a good idea because lots of people have seen the film and can relate to it,” said Leah. The machinery in the film inspired James to begin working with motors which formed the starting-point for his workshop. James taught the group how to wire up a small circuit with a motor and a battery to which they attached painted cardboard panels to create a moving piece of artwork. We discussed: What would the painted panels look like moving? How would they change? The group were enthusiastic to see it all come together. James’s workshop was successful in that he showed the inclusive curators where his ideas had come from. His work supported the group to think about their big idea of autonomy in a new way, from personal autonomy to an autonomous machine,

7  For advice on paying artists and setting fees, see the Paying Artists resource via www. payingartists.org.uk/.

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questioning: Can art take on a life of its own? The group made it clear that they wished to work with him again. Another artist workshop was delivered by Mark Simmonds who, as a graphic designer and book maker, presented different skills and approaches than the other artists the inclusive curators worked with. Mark chose to host his workshop in Bluecoat’s library space, a room housing Bluecoat’s publications and ephemera that also doubles as a meeting space. Mark’s workshop began with a question: What do you use books for? The group surprised me and responded with some ingenious ways in which they used printed publications in their lives. Comics, programmes, pop-up Figure 9: Workshop with Mark Simmonds books, games, literature, football exploring Bluecoat’s library, 2016 pamphlets, textbooks, maps, the list went on! Fascinatingly, the group also responded by sharing with Mark their experiential relationships with books. Eddie explained that although he cannot read, he likes to buy books when he visits a new place. They act as a memory. Diana enjoyed the smell of books and Hannah liked books which feel nice with textured paper. Mark was intrigued and gave the group an activity: find a book with a picture of Bluecoat on, find a book that’s big, find a book you like the look of, and so on. As a result, the workshop table was soon full of a diverse array of publications. The form of a book—its size and shape, paper stock, printing, cover, and binding— as opposed to just its contents provides an experience for the reader. The group thoroughly enjoyed this activity which supported them in exploring the Bluecoat’s extensive archive. Over lunch, Mark and I photocopied the selected items for the group to create a collage as Mark as an artist was interested in turning “old things into something new.” The group enjoyed Mark’s approach to thinking broadly about the experience of books and asked me if he could help them make their own gallery publication.

Developing Artist Briefs

Now that the inclusive curators have formed their big idea and begun building a network of artists, if they wish to commission new work then they will need to develop a brief for artists. A brief is typically a written document that provides relevant informa-



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tion on the commission: it describes the vision and scope of the commission as well as practical details for artists to consider. Importantly, a commission is a form of collaboration between artists, curators, and the institution. It is critical that possibilities and ideas for the artwork are not limited and overly fixed from the start. While inclusive curators may have a vision in mind, artists must have adequate scope to put their own “stamp” on it. The brief should be considered as a starting-point to develop ideas further; not to pre-empt outcomes. The challenge is to support focus but not limit ambition as, in many ways, supporting inclusive curators to develop the artist’s brief is the first glimpse of the complex relationship to come. The different project stakeholders should be invited to input into the brief—the inclusive curators and facilitator, as well as the museum staff—each contributing something to establish parameters for the commission. PATH and decision-making agreement templates could be used as tools to do this. The artist brief is typically a formal document and contents might include: The Context: the place/site, architectural context, geographical or social dimensions, and the commissioning organization’s ethos and values; The Concept: what is the big idea?, the emphasis of the commission; Practical Information: the budget, project management, time frame; The Selection Process: interview format, selection criteria or perhaps names of the selection panel, Submission: closing dates, address and contacts; Contact Information: for addressing queries, which could be the facilitator; Appendices: application form, maps, drawings, photographs, and other useful material for artists. Once a brief has been developed and signed off by all stakeholders, inclusive curators can either advertise the brief publicly, or send the brief to specific artists and invite them to interview.

Interviewing Artists Inclusively

Interviews are crucial components of hiring and the impressions developed through these face-to-face encounters are strong drivers of recruitment decisions.8 It is essential to spend ample time devising an interviewing process with inclusive curators that works for them, since their input could potentially challenge previous ideas on how we “know” or assess what a good candidate is in the first place. Interviews can take different forms. Face-to-Face Interviews are the format with which we are perhaps most are familiar. Here, the interviewer wants to see how the candidate will fit into the project and will ask questions to test listed skills and experience against the job description. Group Interviews involve two or more applicants being interviewed at the same time with typically two or more interviewers. All applicants will be applying for the same position. These interviews test style, professionalism, leadership skills, and the ability to function in a group. Panel or Committee Interviews are a variation of the face-to-face format, whereby several members of an organization interview each candidate together. This can be a way to involve a cross-section of the wider curatorial group. Breakfast or Lunch Interviews provide an opportunity to interview outside the institutional setting and get an insight on how an artist will behave in more 8  Dipboye, Smith, and Howell, Understanding Industrial and Organizational Psychology.

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informal surroundings. Some of these interview formats may be used as second or third interviews and work well to reveal personality. For Auto Agents, we discussed with the inclusive curators what might the best way to interview artists. We decided to practise different techniques by role-playing scenarios and experimenting with methods. This opportunity to test different approaches can be vital for people who may have little or no experience in interviewing or being interviewed. First, we attempted to devise a scoring system, a way for the group to give and record their opinion. We tried marking the artist out of ten, but this did not work for all members of the group as the concept of a number scale was too confusing. Next, we tried a version of thumbs up or thumbs down. Hand signals have been adopted by activist groups such as the Occupy Movement9 as a means of communication and to achieve consensus. Hand signals are typically used by activists instead of conventional audible signals, like applause, shouting, or booing, as they do not interrupt speakers using the “human microphone.”10 Hand signals did work, but it was too “broad stroke” and did not capture detail or nuance, nor did it mitigate against acquiescence, the “tendency to respond affirmatively regardless of a question’s content,”11 which can invalidate the response. Leah was the only group member who had previous experience in attending and conducting interviews. In her role as Peer Advocate at Halton Speak Out Leah frequently sat on interview panels with local intellectual disability district nurses to support their decisions on hiring new staff. Leah’s frustration was visible. She suggested we needed “a sheet with questions to think about, that’s how I’ve done it before.” After heated discussions we came up with a mixed-method approach which incorporated Leah’s suggestion of a scoring sheet (which I had originally feared would be inaccessible), and an anonymous voting booth where each inclusive curator would vote “yes” or “no” after each artist pitch. Interestingly, there have been several instances of museums serving as polling stations internationally, including Torquay Museum, Santa Cruz Museum of Art and History, and Yerba Buena Center for the Arts.12 Including a voting booth can be particularly useful if facilitators are aware of group dynamics at play. At this point in the project, I had spent months working with the inclusive curators and had noticed that decisions were sometimes swayed by the more assertive members of the group who offered up their opinion first. To mitigate this, I suggested that we vote in secret before sharing our opinions with each other in an attempt to capture those individual “gut” reactions to the artist’s interviews. Developing a scoring sheet required a delicate balance. Although open-ended questions are preferred on the grounds of validity, the major disadvantage is that some people may find this approach confusing. Hence, including sub-questions along with any open-ended questions works well as an inclusive technique. 9  Crouch, “What’s Behind those Occupy Hand Signals,” unpag.

10  A system where the front of the crowd repeats the speaker so that the content can be heard at the back of the crowd. 11  Carlson, Wilson, and Forsyth, “Right for the Job,” 12.

12  Brown, “If You Want to Become a Polling Place,” unpag.



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1. Did you like their interview? Was it easy to understand? Or was it confusing?

Did they talk to you?

Or talk to the museum staff?

Was it fun? Did they interact or have things to show you? Or did they just talk and it was boring?

2. Did you like their art?

Was it exciting? Did it make you want to make art? Or

Was it boring or confusing?

Does it tell a good story? Or mean something important? Or

You didn’t understand what it was about

Would your friends, family, people in your community like it? Or

I wouldn’t want to show it to anyone, I’m not sure they would like it or understand

3. Could you work with them?

Did you like them? Did they make it interesting, are they approachable? Or

You didn’t click with them?

Would they listen to your ideas? Would you feel confident they would take your advice on board? Or

You feel they would they just carry on doing their own idea? Would they explain things in a way you can understand?

Tool 6: Artist Interview Template

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What is evident from the template is that the sub-questions are there to foster thinking about the broader questions. The sub-questions focus on the more behavioural, overtly observable characteristics such “did they talk to you?,” “did they have things to show you?,” instead of concepts that might seem abstract. Once a scoring system is in place, the inclusive curators next need to agree on how to decide whether the artist gives a “good” interview against their criteria. This proved a challenge for the Auto Agents inclusive curators. The inclusive curators wanted to focus on the personal characteristics of the artists, instead of their knowledge or skills. While an artist’s qualifications, skills, knowledge, and ideas are important determinants of the decision to hire, they are not the only factors that affect hiring decisions. Rather than reducing people’s motivating drive just to homo œconomicus,13 we know that emotion is a fundamental basis of many people’s decision-making.14 Notwithstanding, it is equally important that inclusive curators are taking into consideration the quality of the artist’s idea, practical feasibility, and their approach to pitching their proposal. A panel system can be a beneficial format to get these different perspectives. In this way each member of the panel can focus on a particular aspect of the artist’s interview. For example, the inclusive curators focused on assessing the artist’s strength of concept in relation to their big idea, their character, and accessibility while Adam, Bluecoat’s in-house curator, focused on evaluating feasibility of delivery. This is a good example of collaboration between inclusive curators and the museum staff. The inclusive curators drew on Adam’s curatorial knowledge and experience to inform their decision. But it was still their decision. Once a panel is assembled and a scoring system in place, one next needs to discuss what the panel is hoping to learn about the proposal and the artist, and what the best way for everyone to participate in that process is. This not only helps inform the questions to be posed, but the overall structure and approach to the interview. For example, the inclusive curators of Auto Agents specified no written applications regarding the commission, nor did they wish to rely overly on talking, and so they wrote to the artists to brief them: In the interview we will ask you to recap what you did in your workshop with us. We will ask you to pitch an existing artwork you have which fits our theme. We will ask you to pitch an idea for the commission. We would love to see lots of visuals: pictures, objects, plans, sketches, sounds, and videos. Be as creative as you like! We will be considering how accessible your pitches are as part of our decision. You will have 45 minutes in total.

The emphasis of this interview was on showing and demonstrating in a dynamic and participatory way. This was because written language is not an inclusive communication method for people with intellectual disabilities. The panel instead asked artists to present the idea as visually and creatively as possible, explicitly stating that access was a key aspect of their decision-making criteria. Unusually, we did not pre-plan questions to ask the interviewed artists. We instead began the interview with introductions and then

13  Homo œconomicus, or “economic man,” is the characterization of man in some economic theories as a “rational” person who pursues wealth for his own self-interest. 14  Thoits, “The Sociology of Emotions.”



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invited the artists to first pitch their existing artwork, followed by their commission proposal. This shifted the focus onto the artists and their creative ideas and avoided the inclusive curators feeling pressured to ask questions and respond in a structured or set way. I, the inclusive curators, and Adam instead asked questions which were prompted through curiosity from having observed the artist’s presentations. Rather than a traditional “question” and “answer” model for a group interview, we instead worked to devise an approach which worked for the inclusive curators.

Case Study: Interviewing Artists for Commissions

The inclusive curators invited three artists for interview who had all previously contributed workshops. The first artist to be interviewed was Becky Peach, an artist with a breadth of knowledge in the field of printmaking. For her workshop, Becky focused on her piece titled Do Touch (2015), a sculpture made from perspex. No larger than an A3-sized sheet of paper, it has nine separate parts, each made using a laser cutter and screen printed onto using process colours: cyan, magenta, and yellow. The sculpture follows a similar principle to the children’s construct game K’NEX: each piece can slot together to create innumerable configurations. The work’s title Do Touch essentially acts as an instruction, urging the audience to break with convention and the etiquette of the gallery space. For the workshop, the group began by screen-printing shapes onto cardboard. This was a new skill for many in the group and they discussed what hard work it was! After printing the designs, the group were asked to cut out shapes and think about how they would slot together. The group were engrossed in playing with their work. Everybody made different configurations and played with each other’s artworks. Becky began her interview by recapping her workshop by showing the group their cardboard versions of Do Touch, talking through how they made them. This went down well with the group. Becky then discussed her idea for the commission itself. Responding to the group’s request for an inclusive pitch, Becky had made a mood board. This mood board was a collage of work by other artists who had inspired her, but although this gave Adam and me a sense of her conceptual approach to the commission, the inclusive curators were confused by the mood board and assumed it was comprised of Becky’s previous work. This led to an awkward conversation with Becky trying to explain the purpose of a mood board, to which the group seemed to disconnect. Becky moved on and showed the group some drawings for the commission. Becky was keen to produce a piece of work which explored different textures in the space, such as artificial grass, Perspex, and mirrors. The group liked this idea but seemed confused, despite her drawings, on the physical form it would take. After the interview, we discussed Becky’s ideas with our prepared questions to guide us. It became clear that the group liked her and valued her overall approach to art-making, but they did not understand the commission and, for them, they felt it was not interactive enough. James Harper interviewed next. James began by taking the group through a presentation, which “told the story” of his first workshop, his artistic inspiration, and his idea for the commission. His presentation began by showing the group a series of photographs he had collected of items found hidden under sheets like cars, trees, and machin-

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ery. James then shared the Charlie and The Chocolate Factory gif again and discussed the link to the “inventing room” positing: is the gallery also an “inventing room”? It appeared that James was using these examples to outline his conceptual framework to the group: things that are hidden. Next, James discussed his idea for the commission in more detail. Inspired by the hidden mechanism in Willy Wonka’s invention room, he proposed creating a large mechanical installation covered by a sheet which would hang in the gallery. Responding to themes of autonomy and independence, this mechanical piece would be controlled through a series of switches. Visitors would have choice and control over how it moves. The interactive and bizarre nature of his idea was a big hit. Leah straight away asked if we could add sounds and Diana quickly spotted that children would find this fun. What I noticed James did well was employing storytelling techniques to make his pitch accessible, such as framing his conceptual thinking as “a long time ago I was inspired by ….” He also included many images and videos, as well as a model of the installation’s internal structure, a scaled plan, and materials for the inclusive curators to feel. James had also been in contact with one of Bluecoat’s gallery technicians to go over plans for feasibility which Adam was impressed with. When James left, the inclusive curators knew exactly what the work was and were able to describe it back to me. They were visibly excited, clapping, shouting, and laughing. Finally, we interviewed Joseph Cotgrave. Joe also began with a slideshow where he recapped his previous workshop with the group (which had been the group’s favourite) and his inspiration behind his work. During this part of the interview, I did notice that he slipped into using “artspeak” and I could see Hannah and Diana becoming distracted. Joe brought along some sketches and had drawn his idea to the blueprint of gallery space; the group were impressed. Joe’s idea for the commission was a large inflatable installation which the audience could walk inside. This idea is inspired from his previous workshop where the group made a smaller inflatable installation with a fan and highlighted his interest in the construction of spaces and environments. After Joe left, the group were slightly confused and struggled to describe the artwork back to me. How can you walk in it? What would it look like finished? And then questions around its accessibility crept in. Leah asked about wheelchairs and Diana and Eddie didn’t think the idea could work at all. Diana also believed some people might be scared to go in it and wondered how you would get out the other side. These were all astute observations. I also doubted whether the gallery space was big enough for this piece and also questioned whether it spoke to the group’s theme of autonomy either. Adam also had queries about the inflatable structure in terms of health and safety requirements, and suggested we request a financial breakdown, questioning whether something so ambitious could be achieved within budget. As the group continued to discuss the interviews and who they felt gave the best pitch, an issue brewed. LEAH: I think James did the best. I didn’t get Joe’s at all, and I don’t think it’s very accessible. DONNA: Hannah, did you understand Joe’s idea? HANNAH: … mmm, yeah

DONNA: Can you explain what it was?



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HANNAH: … no … like, Charlie and the chocolate factory? DONNA: That was James’s idea, did you like that one? HANNAH: Yes, yes!!!

DIANA: You ok Tony? [Tony says nothing, but has his face covering his hands] DIANA: What’s up mate?

EDDIE: … You alright Tony, lad? [Tony still doesn’t respond, but further covers his face] ABI: [To Jade] I think he’s upset about Joe and the feedback about him

JADE: Is everything alright Tony? Would you like to step outside and have a chat? TONY: Yeah, you’re all being mean about Joe.

In this transcript we see Tony’s reaction to the group’s critique of Joe’s interview. Tony got on well with Joe and a great rapport had sparked between them during his workshop, but I—and the group—were still taken aback by Tony’s reaction. It was unexpected. I had a discussion with Tony one-on-one and explained how we all really liked Joe and the group was not being mean about him as a person, but simply questioning whether his idea was the best choice for the exhibition. This is where the “thumbs up” or “thumbs down” approach to interviewing proves inadequate. What also struck me is, throughout supporting the group to develop a network of artists: what happens when those relationships do not fulfil the requirements of the exhibition? It becomes hard to sever ties and exclude an artist for being involved when they have had so much input already. These relationships need to be carefully managed and in hindsight I did not anticipate the potential impact on inclusive curators when asking them to exclude somebody. This problem can be understood in terms of “relational accountability.” Relationships underpin participatory action-research approaches as, for the most part, the relationships describe individuals contributing as partners and co-investigators in addressing questions or issues. Shawn Wilson, an aboriginal and indigenous scholar established the term “relational accountability” which he describes as research that is both “based in a community context” and “demonstrates respect, reciprocity, and responsibility as it is put into action.”15 Relational accountability encourages researchers to look at the “entire systems of relationships as a whole”16 in their inquiries, which I had somewhat neglected during this interviewing process. Instead of taking into account all relationships, I focused on the relationship between the inclusive curators and the successful candidate only. After this conversation, it was evident that the majority of the group wished to select James. I needed to think carefully about how to frame this to Tony who I knew would feel disappointed. The group needed time to think and cool off, so it was not until a week later that we revisited the interviews and made our final decision. The following week I advised the group it was time to make their final decision, and we began by discussing each candidate one at a time. I did this by showing the inclusive curators photographs of the artists, as well as their artworks, documentation of their workshop, and any items from their interviews. This helped differentiate candi15  Wilson, Research Is Ceremony, 99.

16  Reimer et al., Transformative Change, 47.

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dates during discussions, as one problem experienced during the selection process had involved remembering candidates and distinguishing between them when a decision was required. I counted the votes and James had the most. Tony was still a little hesitant and remained quiet during this conversation. However, Diana shared that she had actually voted for Becky, but realized “I don’t think it makes good sense for the show now” which Tony clearly appreciated. The voting booth seemed to help with this final conversation as it allowed the other members of the group to move away from personal critique to discussing the “objective” votes. “It needs to be a group decision,” said Leah. “Let’s go with who got the most votes.” With all taken into account, the group were delighted to select James and we contacted him that day, as well as informing the other two candidates along with some feedback.

Authorship and Risk

Having appointed and contracted the artist,17 the focus changes to developing the commission. As described in the introduction to this chapter, the act of commissioning art has a long and rich history and the relationship between the artist and curator is well discussed. This is encapsulated in “Art Without Artists?,” a widely debated essay by editor of e-flux journal Anton Vidokle. It inspires a variety of reflections on the creative relationship between artists and curators, the position of institutions, and the bureaucratization of curatorial work. To summarize, Vidokle makes a case for the increased autonomy of artists and for the reduction of the legislative and creative control of curators, who he argues overstep their bounds. While he acknowledges the curator’s role in shaping commissions, Vidokle asserts the importance of artists to have what he describes as “sovereignty.” “By sovereignty” Vidokle writes, I mean simply certain conditions of production in which artists are able to determine the direction of their work, its subject matter and form, and the methodologies they use— rather than having them dictated by institutions, critics, curators, academics, collectors, dealers, the public, and so forth. 18

Vidokle is warning here that the curator’s curatorial themes and “authorial claims” should not take precedence over the artist’s work. He believes that such practices run a serious risk of undermining the agency of artists and diminishing the space of art all together.19 In many ways the role of curator has become so entwined with connotations of knowledge, status, and power that their “authorial claim” could become dominant, because how would an artist challenge it? Through their role curators wield considerable power and play a crucial part in the subscription process of art. But, in my experience, inclusive curators rarely view themselves as a group with such authority. This is what makes facilitating the process tricky. If understanding authorship is tied into the

17  The majority of museums will have standard contract forms for commissioning. For advice on developing contracts see George, The Curator’s Handbook, 105–19 and Buck and McClean, Commissioning Contemporary Art. 18  Vidokle, “Art Without Artists?,” unpag. 19  Ibid.



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careful negotiation of power in the curator/artist relationship, then facilitators must support inclusive curators to identify their stake and capacity for power throughout the project. While the primary concern when facilitating communities in museums is ensuring that they have “a voice,” what happens when their voice becomes so loud and begins superseding that of other constituent groups in the project? This is explored in the case study. The importance of assigning authorship is reflected in Buck and McClean’s key text Commissioning Contemporary Art: A Handbook for Curators and Artists where an entire chapter is dedicated to authorship and “Reaching an Agreement.”20 Here different models of agreements are discussed, from informal agreements generated through correspondence, to legally binding contracts. Legally binding contracts offer a solid sense of clarity and assurance, yet artist Jeremy Deller remains wary of signing binding agreements; “I try not to sign any piece of paper […] to commit myself to this or that, or the other, or to stick to an idea […] and why would you when the work is in progress?”21 Deller makes a key point. The very nature of making art is responsive and reflexive and must require a degree of flexibility in agreements. Therefore, it is becoming commonplace for commissioning contracts to enable revisions to take place at different stages— an approach I would certainly recommend for inclusive curating. Yet, perhaps more complex is the issue of intellectual property rights. How should an artwork be credited, particularly if a collaborative commissioning process model was employed like that in inclusive curating? In such instances “moral rights of authorship” need to be articulated and kept separate to “actual ownership” of the physical work. These details should be discussed during the contractual stage of the commission. Finally, such questions about authorship have brought into debate whether the term curator is in some contexts becoming outdated. In a conversation with fellow curator Nato Thompson, Michelle White has proposed that the very term curator does not account for the delicate collaborations at stake in the role or other subtle forms of power, questioning whether the term “cultural producer […] is a healthier or more honest way to articulate the contemporary role of the curator. It acknowledges the complexity of the collaboration […]. beyond the simple curator/artist dichotomy.”22 In the next section an example is shared to demonstrate how issues of authorship and autonomy became lived and visible during an inclusive curatorial project.

Case Study: But We Chose Him? Issues of Authorship and Autonomy

The commissioned artist, James, and the inclusive curators are gathered around a table. It is the second workshop with James, they’re discussing the plans for the commission. The following is a transcript of the conversation that took place. 20  Buck and McClean, Commissioning Contemporary Art, 217.

21  Ibid., 218.

22  Michelle White and Nato Thompson, “Dialogue: Curator as Producer.” Cited from Vidokle, “Art Without Artists?,” unpag.

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TONY: Lights would be good. Like, moving lights … [interrupted] DIANA: Yeah, lights!

TONY [continued]: … like a disco

JAMES [hesitant]: Oh right … um … well … [interrupted] EDDIE: That does sounds good

JAMES [continued]: Well, I don’t think lights were a part of my original pitch if you remember? My work looks at movement. EDDIE: Oh right

[The room goes quiet and everyone looks at James]

JAMES: It’s an interesting idea, it’s just I’ve never really worked with lights DIANA: Awww, he doesn’t know, never mind

JAMES: I mean, I could find out but … I’m just not sure it will look right, it’s not really my style EDDIE: Lights would get people’s attention JAMES: … yeah … um.

JADE: Maybe we should leave the idea of lights with James and give him time to think about it. Let’s refocus and chat about the fabrics James has brought in to show you? [Diana turns to Jade]

DIANA: But we like lights and we chose him.

The room was tense, and all eyes were on me as facilitator. In this vignette, we get a sense of the complexities unfolding when inclusively commissioning artwork which, in this moment, circle around autonomy and authorship. Although Diana was the only inclusive curator to explicitly voice at that time her confusion surrounding the authorial boundaries of the commission, she certainly was not alone. After all, the inclusive curators had worked hard for five months to develop an exhibition theme, secure funding, and network with artists. Understandably for them, and I suppose for many curators in a similar position, it was difficult to relinquish control. And so, for this group, the concept of autonomy was explored not just in the exhibition’s big idea but also through the curatorial processes themselves. From this transcript, it is evident how torn James was. On the one hand he appears to want to please, or at least, appease the inclusive curators (“I mean, I could find out …” and “it’s an interesting idea”). However, I suspect this was politeness. It was only the third time James had worked with the group and I suspect he was not yet sure how to say no to them. In this conversation Diana directly points out to James that they selected him (“we chose him”). This appears to reveal the belief that their opinion has more weight. James does eventually express his reluctance to their suggestion of including lights into the commission (“Well, I don’t think lights were a part of my original pitch” and “it’s just I’ve never really worked with lights”), indicating his desire to keep true to his vision for the piece and his artistic style; he was asserting his artistic “sovereignty,” as Vidokle describes. This transcript also hints at risk-taking. We can see all sorts of risks playing out: either the inclusive curators are taking risks in allowing the artist to do it their own way despite their suggestions and overarching vision for the exhibition, or the artist



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Figure 10: “Auto Agent Bob”: an activity to explore authorship, 2016

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takes on board the inclusive curators’ comments and risks the art by comprising their practice and approach. Art collector Dennis Scholl comments, “We commission works because it’s very adventurous. It’s so much more involved than going to a show and saying ‘I’ll take the third one from the left.’” Yet Scholl adds, “But it’s also very hard, it’s complex and it’s very risky: Sometimes you can get the most inspired work ever; other times it doesn’t work out so well.”23 The risk that Scholl discusses here is in relation to the “unknown” as commissioning work means you can never anticipate the final result. Similarly, Maria Frisa writes, “As a curator you have to take risks, because you have to put your ideas to the test […] which only becomes a reality when it is finally complete. It is at this point that it is subjected to the judgment of others—and this is the point of curation.”24 So, while a brief moment in the overall project, for me the conversation quoted above cuts to the heart of key issues pertaining to inclusive curating revolving around the complexities of collaboration and authorship. Here, the inclusive curators are not seeing decision-making as a shared responsibility and seem to suggest that the act of selection and their position as curators has given them autonomy over the commission. We see the inclusive curators pushing their vision for the artwork, the idea of including lights, onto James. Since so much was at stake, I created the following activity to support 23  Ibid., 35.

24  Frisa, “The Curator’s Risk,” 172.

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inclusive curators to think critically about the relationship between artists and curator. To enable them to self-define their role in producing the exhibition, I suggested we make our own museum worker or “Auto Agent,” who affectionately got dubbed by the group as “Auto Agent Bob.”

Activity: Whose Job, Artist or Curator? Set up time: 30 minutes, Activity time: 30 minutes What to Do

Invite the group to make a large outline of a person and divide the outline in half down the middle; one half to represent the artists and the other half the curators. Print or write out labels which describe tasks in making an exhibition such as “choosing artists,” “getting money,” and “making the artwork.” I have included a template and label list below. Ask inclusive curators to think of where each label should go: the artist’s or the curator’s side? Some labels may overlap across both roles. Try this activity first from the perspective of inclusive curators, then of the artists, and discuss what was learnt. Possible Labels

–– Choosing artists

–– What the artwork looks like –– Making the artwork

–– Producing press releases

–– Deciding where art goes in the gallery –– Research ideas for the exhibition

–– Organizing public tours and events –– Organizing the exhibition opening –– Organizing payments –– Writing labels

–– Writing artist statements

In the case of Auto Agents, everyone grabbed a label and in less than thirty seconds, and not to my surprise, the curator’s half of Auto Agent Bob was full while the artist side of Auto Agent Bob was bare. In other words, the group clearly felt like all of the decisions in the exhibition were theirs to make. “That’s interesting” I said, “Let’s do it again but this time let’s imagine we are the artists and not the curators.” This time round no one wanted to place down a label first. “Who makes the artwork?” I asked. “Oh yeah,” said Eddie, “the artists do!” Tony placed his label of “making the artwork” on the artist side. Slowly we went through each label and looked at the task from the perspective of artists.



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This time round many shared tasks emerged, one of which was interpretation. Tip

In the past, some inclusive curators have expanded the options for involved persons by adding hats and tool boxes, for example, to indicate roles other than artists and inclusive curators, such as (from museum staff ) technicians, marketing, and education teams.

Decision-Making Agreement

An additional way to support negotiation concerning authorship between inclusive curators, artists, and museum staff is a decision-making agreement. These detail the important decisions to be made, how everyone should be included, and, crucially, who gets the Tool 7: Whose Job? final say. This provides guidance to refer back to when tensions emerge around agency and authorship. In the past I have developed these types of agreements with self-advocates and they are commonly used as a person-centred planning tool. Decision-making agreements aim to break down information into clear sections: “the decision,” “how I must be involved,” and “who makes the final decision” to help people to reflect on how decisions are made and who is making them.25 They support people in learning “how to evaluate interactions that occurred in reaching a decision and then refine their interaction skills the next time.”26 Below is a template of a decision-making agreement with an example to illustrate how it is used. Rather than viewing these as formal agreement or contracts, instead, they are best used as a process to make decision-making transparent. 25  Helen Sanderson Associates, “Decision Making Agreements,” unpag.

26  Mears and Voehl, Team Building, 1.

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Summary

Tool 8: Decision-Making Agreements

This chapter “Acquiring Artworks” has explored ways to support inclusive curators to develop their own artistic networks and cultivate relationships with artists, in the context of selecting artworks for their exhibition. Curators can acquire art through a range of ways from selecting existing pieces of work, placing an open call, or circulating briefs. This chapter has also explored the potential of supporting inclusive curators to acquire art through commissioning new work, including guidance on developing commissioning briefs, as well as interviewing artists inclusively. Yet, we have seen how collaborating with artists in the creation of new work can bring rise to issues of authorship and risk. In this chapter’s case study, a conversation transcript between artist James and the inclusive curators is exemplary of these challenges. This was an exchange during the project, offering a rich descriptive account of the tension experienced when developing new work. As the project’s facilitator, in response I designed an engagement activity “Whose Job?” to help inclusive curators reflect on their role. This chapter has also featured a decision-making agreement template to support transparency to the process of making key decisions collaboratively throughout the project.

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DEVELOPING INTERPRETATION At this point in the process of inclusive curating, inclusive curators will have already researched art museums, exhibitions, and curatorial styles and interrogated these experiences as a group. They would have worked together to develop their big idea for the exhibition, as well as finalizing the acquisition of artwork for display through exploring collections, working with artists, or commissioning new works. Inclusive curators must now turn their attention to thinking more closely about who the potential audiences might be for their exhibition, and how best to support them to understand and interpret their work. The practice of interpretation addresses how museums “facilitate encounters between object and observer.”1 Interpretation, broadly speaking, involves anything that helps visitors make sense of the museum and its exhibitions. It typically includes artist statements, captions, gallery wall texts, videos, audio guides, catalogues, and tours. As art education scholar Terry Barrett claims: “A work of art is an expressive object made by a person, and therefore, unlike a tree, a rock, or other mere things, it is always about something; thus, unlike trees or rocks, artworks call for interpretation.”2 In particular, the crux of curatorial practice in contemporary art is the construction of artistic meaning through the exhibition, which is largely down to the curator. Part spectacle, part socio-historical event, part structuring device, exhibitions—especially exhibitions of contemporary art—“establish and administer the cultural meanings of art,”3 and interpretation plays a key role in this. The nature and role of interpretation in art museums is complex and widely debated; from its role and scope, its relationship with learning, ethical entanglements, to its professionalization and incorporation into job roles and departments. For inclusive curators, questions concerning the interpretation of artwork become more visible: How will the artwork be interpreted and why? What is omitted or assumed? Who is the audience? What knowledge does a visitor need to bring with them to “de-code” this work of art?4 This chapter begins by providing an overview of the key debates concerning interpretation in the context of contemporary art. We will examine the art museum’s “authoritative voice,” preference for overly textual strategies that some criticize as being reliant on inaccessible, specialist language or “artspeak,” and the problematic nature of labelling. These issues have not only been interrogated by museum researchers and practitioners, but also by artists, and so I shall include examples of artwork by BANK, Guerrilla Girls, and Andrea Fraser to illuminate these debates. This chapter also centres on a case study from Auto Agents where the interpretative approach used no text at all, reflecting the ways in which the inclusive curators differently read, write, and commu1  Belcher, “Communicating through Museums,” 649.

2  Berrett, Criticizing Art, 8.

3  Ferguson et al., Thinking about Exhibitions, 2.

4  Stylianou-Lambert and Stylianou, “A Third Space,” 67.

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nicate. Rather than traditional labels, text panels, and artist statements in the gallery, our inclusive curators instead featured a single short film made collaboratively between themselves and the exhibiting artists, as well as dialogic approaches to public engagement such as the traditional curator’s tour.

The “Authoritative Voice”

“Who wrote all of this do you think?,” I asked Leah during a research visit, gesturing to the large block of text printed on a gallery’s wall. “Hmmm … Not sure,” she replied rather puzzled. “Whoever is in charge? Don’t really know but they must be clever … it tells you what the show is and what it means.” Leah’s observation illustrates what museum scholars call the “authoritative voice.”5 The authoritative voice of the curator, and by extension of the museum, is understood to originate from various sources. As we discussed in the introduction, historically the curator was considered a figure of intellectual authority: knowledgeable about the provenance, meaning, and cultural context from which the objects they cared for came. As a result, the curator’s conceptual ideas and scholarship was privileged, and exhibitions were designed largely around their agendas,6 at the same time establishing the public museum as an institution with values tied to “neutrality,” “rationality,” and “objectivity.”7 In addition to this scholarship, the curator has also remained a key decision-maker in museums through the objects they choose to collect and those they do not, as well through the artists they choose to commission or exhibit, and those they do not. Decisions about how objects, groups of people, cultures, and so forth are presented in the museum are today seen to reflect problematic assumptions and deeper judgments of power and authority.8 As long ago as 1957, however, Freeman Tilden produced a foundational text on interpretation titled Interpreting Our Heritage, in which he famously set out six principles of interpretation. Crucially, Tilden pointed out that “the chief aim of interpretation is not instruction but provocation.”9 Taking this approach, a new emphasis is placed on museums supporting people to make their own personal connections with objects, rather than instructing meaning through their authority. Similarly, Cheryl Meszaros, a lecturer and museum consultant, has claimed constructivist learning theory10 has undermined the traditional authority of art-historical knowledge formerly used to empower art curators as dispensers of interpretation to publics. Meszaros suggests power has now shifted to viewers, obliging curators to ask what (and how) museum visitors may be learning. As a result, Meszaros suggests, “people make their own meaning in and 5  Sitzia, “The Ignorant Art Museum,” 71.

6  McLean, Planning for People in Museum Exhibitions. 7  Blight, “What Happened to the Expert Curator?” 8  Karp and Levine, Exhibiting Cultures, 2. 9  Tilden, Interpreting Our Heritage, 18.

10  A theory in which people construct their own understanding and knowledge of the world, through experiences and reflecting on those experiences.



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through their interactions with the world.”11 This is in stark contrast with Leah’s feeling of being instructed meaning as she read the block of text in the gallery. Rather than seeing visitors as consumers of ideas or knowledge, museums have on the whole shifted to “about you-the-visitor” and your interpretations. As a result, recent years have seen transformations in the perception of museums from “museum as a temple” to a newer ideal of “museum as forum,”12 where museum models have shied away from the traditional authoritative voice to that of a partner engaged in dialogue with interested publics. In 1996 the former director of Tate Galleries and current chair of Arts Council England, Nicholas Serota, wrote, “The best museums of the future will […] seek to promote different modes and levels of ‘interpretation.’”13 Serota suggested: “the story line becomes less significant and the personal experience becomes paramount. […] An increasing number of museums are following this model, prompting us to ask whether the museum is losing its fundamental didactic purpose.”14 Serota’s comment could be viewed in light of philosopher Jacques Rancière’s writing on the ‘emancipated spectator.’15 Rancière rejects this ‘logic of straight, uniform transmission’ from one mind to another to insist upon the creativity of the spectator, suggesting the opportunity to experience an exhibition in our own terms, as opposed to one where we are instructed by a curator or institution, is vital. The ways in which museums have sought to transform themselves from a voice of authority, on which they have traditionally relied, into the voice of a “pluralistic society”16 has been conceptualized in different ways. Historian and anthropologist James Clifford’s image of the museum as a “contact zone”17 is used to suggest how the museum might be used to encourage collaboration between source communities and stakeholders. “When museums are seen as contact zones, their organizing structure as a collection becomes an ongoing historical, political, moral relationship—a power-charged set of exchanges, of push and pull.”18 In this concept, museums hope to reimagine themselves as a potential space where different cultural groups could share, negotiate, and change perspectives on knowledge. Similarly, the “constituent museum” is one that advocates for museum visitors to resist the model of being passive recipients of predefined content, but instead position them as members of a “constituent body” who facilitate, provoke, and inspire.19 Equally, museum scholar Fiona Cameron has written about “liquid museums,” expressing the need to develop new ways of thinking about museum structures that support liquidity, pluralism, and assemblages.20 Cameron argues that “liquid museums” offer 11  Meszaros, “Interpretation and the Hermeneutic Turn,” 18.

12  Cameron, “The Museum.”

13  Serota, Experience or Interpretation, 55. 14  Ibid., 10.

15  Rancière, The Emancipated Spectator, 14.

16  Karp et al., Museums and Communities: The Politics of Public Culture, 145. 17  Clifford, “Museums as Contact Zones.” 18  Ibid., 192–93.

19  Byrne et al., The Constituent Museum, 11. 20  Cameron, “The Liquid Museum.”

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“models of order where power is dispersed across multiple actors and dispersed sites, legitimizing the pluralization of authoritative opinion, expertise, multiple rationalities, different technologies and techniques for acting.”21 Change in the area of a museum’s role, therefore, becomes a process, both intended and unintended, in which agency and authority is rethought in terms of relational resources and institutional capacities. Conversely, Meszaros has questioned whether such a constructivist approach to interpretation sometimes goes too far and gives users “too much power” resulting in what she describes as the “whatever interpretation”: By placing interpretive authority in the hands of the individual, and further, by championing the “whatever” interpretation as the final and desired outcome of the museum visit, the museum not only justifies its failure to communicate, but also it absolves itself of any interpretive responsibility for the meanings it produces and circulates in culture.22

Professor of cultural anthropology Sharon MacDonald also reminds us that, in spite of attempts to represent multiple perspectives in exhibition displays, “people are attracted by the authority of museums and audiences could lose interest if that authority is called into question.”23

Tool: The Equity Compass

“Ethics” in regard to museums are generally seen as a set of guiding principles or good practice.24 Museum ethics have no power of enforcement; rather they are intended as a way of thinking or as a set of ideals that are shared by museum professionals and helps them to judge existing practices and make decisions.25 According to Marstine, ethics should not be considered a burden of compliance externally imposed on museums, but rather an opportunity for growth in “social responsibility, radical transparency and guardianship of heritage.”26 For example, the ethical code of The International Council of Museums (ICOM) addresses museum-related topics such as acquisition procedures, legislation, management of resources, security, returns and restitutions, as well as principles of working in “close collaboration with the communities from which their collections originate as well as those they serve.”27 This statement makes clear that ethics does not simply concern “rules” or what is viewed to be “right” or “wrong,” “good” or “bad.” It also concerns how we work together, practise non-consensus, make value judgments (consciously or otherwise), and the process of decision-making.28 21  Cameron, “From Mitigation to Creativity,” 91.

22  Meszaros, “Now THAT is Evidence,” 13.

23  Cited in Longair, “Cultures of Curating,” 2. 24  Gazi, “Exhibition Ethics.”

25  Bersterman, “Museum Ethics,” 431–41.

26  Marstine, The Routledge Companion to Museum Ethics, 6. 27  ICOM, “Code of Ethics for Museums,” 34.

28  Edson, “Practical Ethics and the Contemporary Museum,” 13.



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Tool 9: Equity Compass

Equity itself is an ethical principle and describes the situation in which everyone is treated fairly and equally. The Equity Compass is a tool designed to enable groups to evaluate and discuss how equitable an approach might be by plotting it on each of the axes; the tool considers power relations, embeddedness, authority, and representation as key ethical principles. The template below is based upon an Equity Compass developed by Professor Louise Archer during the “Youth Access & Equity in Informal Science Learning” (ISL) project. This version has been adapted for interpretation (I have used Auto Agents exhibition’s approach to interpretation as an example to demonstrate), but this tool can also be used to deliberate a wider range of topics such as the big idea, the commission, policy making and public programme planning. Crucially, ethics are not carved in stone. Ethics should be continually reviewed and considered a type of discourse. In addition to scholars and representatives of user-groups, artists too have challenged the authority of museums. Their opposition has been connected with movements associated with “institutional critique.” Beginning with the avant-garde movements of the early twentieth century, some artists have claimed their ideas did not align with those of the curator or museum. Institutional criticism became recognized as an artistic genre in the late 1960s, propelled by artists such as Hans Haacke and Michael Asher, when artists began to create art in response to the internal workings of the art institution, expressing concerns with language, commodity, the market, and critiques of authorship. In the 1980s, Andrea Fraser began to critique the museum and the curator’s authoritative voice through pieces such as Museum Highlights: A Gallery Talk (1989). In this video piece, Fraser leads a tour of the Philadelphia Museum of Art in the guise of a

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fictional docent named Jane Castleton. Dressed in a smart grey suit, Castleton speaks directly to the camera as she conducts a tour around the museum. Alongside conventional elements of a gallery tour, such as the history of the institution and its collection, Castleton offered her thoughts on the building’s toilets, cloakroom, and shop. The language Fraser employs in her performance intended to parody the descriptions commonly provided by museum experts, and repeatedly returns to question ideas of personal taste.29 Yet, according to Fraser, “Institutional critique is dead” and “a victim of its success or failure, swallowed up by the institution it stood against”30 now that museums seek to incorporate critics and their perspectives into their programmes. This is a key point for inclusive curators: how can they take on the position of curator without being coopted into traditional structures and approaches in museums? This is a concern shared throughout co-curated projects. For example, The Past Is Now: Birmingham and The British Empire (2017) was a co-curated exhibition between activists and museum staff that experimented with decolonizing the story of Empire. Co-curator Sumaya Kassim queried whether large institutions like Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery can promote “decolonial thinking” or whether in fact these institutions are so embedded in the history and structures that decoloniality challenges, that they will only end up co-opting it.31 Decolonization, for instance, like the “big idea” of personhood and autonomy in Auto Agents, is much deeper and complex than an exhibition can ever represent. Inclusive curators operate in a unique position. Though they are unquestionably central to any decisions which are made in regard to their exhibition, they are not part of the museum’s permanent staff and, in many respects, operate from the margin. As bell hooks (whose name is significantly non-capitalized to challenge name-based authority) explains, “to be in the margin is to be part of the whole but outside the main body.”32 Taking this stance, a peripheral position means developing a particular way of seeing reality, that is to say, developing an understanding of the operations of both margin and centre, not only the centre. Working in the margins has distinct advantages, the foremost being point of view. This can be true of inclusively curating. Inclusive curators who are not wholly part of the museum are able to bring different perspectives into the institution, opening up opportunities for new interpretative opportunities.

Artspeak

Contemporary art, and art galleries in particular, have received much criticism in how they use written language. They have been accused of presenting information in inaccessible, overly complicated, specialist art languages known as “artspeak,” which according to the Oxford English Dictionary is a “chiefly depreciative obscure, esoteric, 29  Martin (for Tate), “Andrea Fraser Museum Highlights: A Gallery Talk 1989,” unpag.

30  Fraser, “From the Critique of Institutions to an Institution of Critique,” 248. 31  Wajid and Minott, “Detoxing and Decolonising Museums.” 28 32  Hooks, Yearning, 149.



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or pretentious language used to discuss art.”33 In The Necessity of Artspeak Roy Harris describes artspeak as “an open-ended discourse” with a “range of demotic and academic registers.”34 That said, “it is instantly recognisable the moment we are pressed, either overtly or tactility, to accept the attribution and of the status of art.”35 Artspeak has been accused of being littered with “pompous paradoxes” and “plagues of adverbs” and mainly serves as ammunition for those who still insist contemporary art is a fraud.36 The controversial 2012 essay “International Art English” by David Levine and Alix Rule attempted to scientifically prove that “the internationalized art world relies on a unique language […]. This language has everything to do with English, but it is emphatically not English.” One of their conclusions was that International Art English or “artspeak” is used by its proponents to both identify each other and signal their insider status and authority within the art elite. Whether we deem this to be positive or negative, Harris claims artspeak performs a crucial function of “social validation” and “rejection for certain types of product and activity.” Harris argues that the necessity of artspeak increases with the separation of art from any obvious extrinsic function and its proliferation in respect to the avant-garde, where it serves the purpose of mystification.37 More recently, Martin Waldmeier, consultant lecturer at Sotheby’s Institute of Art, has examined the language of curation dubbed “curatorspeak.” During a panel discussion Curating Now at the Bedford Square Festival in 2017, Waldmeier spoke about his theories regarding the language of curation.38 He believes that the language of curating is firstly about building technical terminology. Every field has a vocabulary that is unique to its research, publications, and conversations. “Curating, like all fields, has this kind of jargon.”39 Waldmeier also claims that curatorspeak is about positioning the curator as an author and developing a universal language for art. Language can serve to both distance and unite. The language used by curators serves to create an international common ground for curators by establishing a standard for how to talk about art. Secondly, curatorspeak is also about meeting audience expectations. Waldmeier’s hypothesis was based on his own experimentation conducted within the classroom. Waldmeier drafted two written pieces describing the same artist’s exhibition, one using the complicated language of curators and one using a more conversational structure. Students consistently chose the confusing jargon, leading Waldmeier to argue audiences have been conditioned to accept this language. Waldmeier concluded that we must consider what curatorspeak does to the audience and, furthermore, if curators write and speak clearly about art, does it empower the audience to understand and advance their own ideas about the work? 33  Oxford English Dictionary Online, “Artspeak.” Accessed December 2, 2018, www.oed.com/.

34  Harris, Necessity of Artspeak, 9. 35  Ibid., 9.

36  Beckett, “A User’s Guide to Artspeak,” unpag. 37  Harris, Necessity of Artspeak, 194. 38  Mills, “Speaking ‘Curator’,” unpag.

39  Ibid.

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In an attempt to assist cultural workers in their ambition towards inclusion as mediated by interpretation strategies Dany Louise produced The Interpretation Matters Handbook: Artspeak Revisited. Louise proposes that institutions of contemporary art prioritize talking to each other and the wealthy educated elite of the art world, rather than representing a cross-section of local and regional residents. Louise powerfully demonstrates why we need clearer interpretation by defining the seven problems of art writing as she sees it: excessive information, artspeak, sub-clauses, dumbing down, gaps in information, nonsense writing, and finally, “Dead White Male Syndrome” (i.e., boring information about artist biographies). A potential solution to the challenges of artspeak could be found, as Dany Louise suggests, by working with a broader range of people to generate interpretation. The People’s Glossary,40 an action-research project by Emma Curd, took Louise’s proposal on board through investigating public user-driven vocabulary in museums, exploring how language is used when we discuss contemporary art. Curd took an artsbased approach and invited community groups, such as Tate Liverpool’s Community Collective, to review the language of several institutions (including Tate Liverpool, Wrexham’s Tŷ Pawb, and the Middlesbrough Institute of Modern Art), and then worked to coproduce a new glossary by sorting terminology into three categories: “keep,” “discuss,” and “suspend.” The ambition was to make collections of contemporary art accessible to a greater number of people by responding to the ever-changing vocabulary that engagement with art demands. Of course, the phenomena of artspeak and curatorspeak have long been critiqued and challenged by artists themselves. Founded in 1967, Art & Language, for example, was a movement by a group of artists aiming to overcome formal approaches to art and acted “as a point of initial enquiry into the language-use of the art society.”41 In the 1990s, the Fax-Bak Service: Helping You Help Yourselves! (1998) by artist collective BANK (Simon Bedwell, Milly Thompson, and John Russell) saw gallery press releases returned to commercial galleries with corrections and commentary and have since become BANK’s best-known work. They corrected grammar, critiqued the logos and typefaces in use, and deconstructed the text highlighting the many examples of pretentiousness, meaningless assertions, and general misuse of the English language on display in galleries. They gave texts marks out of ten, faxed them back to the galleries from which they came, and exhibited them, seemingly making an example of the absurdity of artspeak. BANK’s description of their project reveals a typically critical and humorous stance: Press releases are genuinely fascinating documents. They’re usually unsigned, which is perhaps why they’re so often absurdly pompous. But the really interesting thing is, who are they for? Rich collectors, who must be presumed to be stupid and talked to like children? Other gallerists, to show them that they read the backs of theory books too? Artists? Students? Just who is being addressed by these things? The endless nonsense they contained meant that we could be brutally honest about their conceits, assumptions and errors to the point of outright rudeness, under the none-too-convincing cover of offering

40  See project website: www.thepeoplesglossary.co.uk/.

41  Anon., “Introduction,” 10.



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free advice as to improvements. There was also a hopefully infuriating holier-than-thou tone to the whole project, and a hypocritical undercurrent.42

Fax-Bak was included in Bluecoat’s exhibition Double Act: Art & Comedy (2016) and the inclusive curators of Auto Agents visited it as part of their research. Once the concept of Fax-Bak was broken down for the inclusive curators, they appreciated the concept and Leah even “Fax-Bak-ed” Bluecoat’s own exhibition press release back to them. On the press release, Leah underlined the phrase “domestic sphere” in red pen. “What does that mean?” she asked. “Well, it means like home or families,” I replied. “Then why not just say that? They’re just making it more complicated for no reason!” She then annotated it with “Crazy!”

ACTIVITY “Fax-Bak-king”

Set up time: 5 min, Activity time: 20 minutes What to Do –– Compile examples of artist statements, exhibition hand-outs, press releases, and other materials supplied as part of an exhibition. These can be gathered during research visits or found on museum’s websites. –– Begin by introducing the original Fax-Bak project to participants. It’s fun to read out the artist’s comments written on press releases and discuss if the group agrees. What mark out of ten would they give?

–– Invite participants to choose an example text to Fax-Bak themselves. Keep this as a short “gut feeling” activity—no more than ten minutes. –– Ask participants to feedback the experience; What did they learn? How did it make them feel?

Labelling Artworks, Labelling People

There was a time when labels in museums were considered “value-free pearls of objective truth”:43 the artist, title, date, medium, and then a few explanatory words from the curator. Labels are widely recognized and accepted as a key way that museums mediate information to the public. The traditional museum label displayed alongside objects and artworks provides information through the written word. However, that information is not provided in a vacuum and is intended to assist the visitor in “reading” the object to gain information directly from it. Yet, “although labels offer a context within which the item in question can be read,” this context can be limited, selective, and even manipulative, “since it generally invites visitors to perceive in a particular way.”44 This can be 42  Wilson (for Tate), “Fax-Back (London: The Approach),” unpag.

43  Blunden, “Language Under the Microscope,” 2. 44  Jordanova, History in Practice, 24.

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especially true in the case of art museums which are often characterized as elitist and exclusive by the process of defining what is art and, crucially, what is not. As a result, labels remain a subject of extensive exploration.45 In the 1970s and 1980s, critical-discourse analysis presented museum labels not as matter-of-fact explanations but in fact as “riddled with ideologies that privileged certain stories and certain voices, and marginalised or excluded others.”46 Equally, labelling, and its relationship to visitor experience,47 particularly in regard to inclusivity and access,48 has prompted museum practitioners and researchers to look in a “controlled” and “empirical” way at the various attributes that constitute “a good label” by producing guidelines about how text should look and be written. For example, building on Serrell’s Making Exhibit Labels (1983),49 Stephen Bitgood50 developed in 1989 a list of twelve “deadly sins” that he argued characterized unsuccessful exhibition texts and labels: 1. Too long and wordy

2. Too technical for the intended readers

3. Boring, with inappropriate information

4. Badly edited, with mistakes in grammar, spelling, or syntax 5. Too small—tiny words crammed on a 3 x 5 inch card 6. Hard to read (the result of poor typography)

7. Coloured in a way that makes reading difficult or tiresome

8. Badly placed, causing neck, back, or eye strain in the viewer 9. Fails to “grab” the attention of the visitor

10. Codes are open to ambiguous interpretation

11. Is lost among the visual “noise” of too many other labels and objects 12. Doesn’t address visitor knowledge, interest, and misconceptions.

These principles became regarded as a blueprint throughout much of the museum sector, and further research and practice focused on trying to specify more precisely the corresponding virtues and best practice. I share these “sins” with inclusive curators, using them as a resource for stimulating discussion regarding text and labelling. During research visits, I invite inclusive curators to identify any examples of these “sins” that they can identify in the museum, as well as supporting them to cocreate their own list of “heavenly virtues” (successful examples of interpretation that they encounter). 45  Ravelli, Museum Texts.

46  Blunden, “Language Under the Microscope,” 2. 47  Blunden, “The Sweet Spot?,” 292.

48  Baños, “Writing Exhibition Texts.” 49  Serrell, Making Exhibit Labels.

50  Bitgood, “Deadly Sins Revisited.”



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In addition to museum researchers exploring how labels construct meaning,51 or reveal and reinforce ideological stances and bias, there is also a history of artists who have challenged museums’ and curators’ use of labelling as “discriminatory practices.”52 Since their inception in 1984, the art collective Guerrilla Girls (who protect their identities by wearing gorilla masks in public), have worked to expose discrimination in the art world employing the visual language of advertising, specifically fly-posting, to convey their messages in a quick and accessible manner. I first saw the Guerrilla Girls work as part of the exhibition Disobedient Objects (2015) at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London (the “V&A”) where their famous poster read “Do women have to be naked to get into the Met. Museum? Less than 5% of the artists in the Modern Art sections are women, but 85% of the nudes are female.”53 Similarly, in their signature poster-style, Guerrilla Girls created a banner featuring three sample labels for artist Chuck Close, who has been accused of sexually harassing his models, in typical museum layout and font. The work was headlined with the provocative “Three ways to write a museum wall label when the artist is a sexual predator.” They went on to critique the way that wall labels were written, using satire and activist techniques. This work appeared in an exhibition of protest art London’s Design Museum titled From Nope to Hope (2018).54 Alice Procter, a historian of material culture, has also challenged the assumed neutrality of museum interpretation and labelling. Procter’s #FixYourLabels postcards aim to draw attention to bias in museum labelling and the politics of display. The postcard reads “Dear Art Gallery/Museum, your label for _____________ needs improvement. Currently it is ….”

The postcard then lists a number of tick boxes: “racist,” “colonialist/imperialist,” “classist,” “sexist,” “homophobic,” “ableist,” and more, as well as “totally impenetrable.” The postcard also includes an additional comments box. According to Procter, “There is no such thing as neutrality or objectivity” since “every label in a gallery was written by a person. Every object was placed, every room was designed. Those people are reflecting their backgrounds in the choices they make, consciously or not.” She continues: On most text panels there’s little or no mention of how objects came to be there. Euphemistic language of “acquisition” obscures the truth. I don’t believe most visitors to the British Museum’s Benin and South Pacific collections, for example, or the V&A’s Indian collections, come away understanding that these are largely the spoils of war.55

In addition to creating labels and texts for artwork, inclusive curators will also be required make their own decision on how to describe themselves within the context of their exhibition. As a facilitator I have always carefully reflected upon the issue of label51  Coxall, “Museum Text as Mediated Message,” 215.

52  Guerilla Girls, “Our Story,” unpag.

53  French, “Every Tool Is a Weapon if You Hold it Right,” unpag.

54  Pes, “The Guerrilla Girls Are Helping Museums Contend With #MeToo,” unpag. 55  Procter, “Museums are Hiding their Imperial Pasts,” unpag.

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ling with my collaborators. Labels matter; they communicate cultural meanings and values and can influence attitudes and actions. On an individual level, labels can offend or affirm. On an institutional level, “the presence or omission of certain words can help people—or make them feel excluded.”56 For example, Rose Kingsley suggests the label of “family” is used as code for “a nuclear family with two heterosexual legally married parents of the same race and their biological children, residing in the same household.”57 For the inclusive curators of Auto Agents who are people labelled as intellectually disabled, this label is just one in a long succession of descriptors. Self-advocates have long campaigned to have the terminology used to describe them changed, and crucially, gain the right to self-define.58 In the case of intellectually-disabled people, People First London campaigned, with partial success, “to get the largest charity in Britain for people with learning disabilities (Mencap) to change its image” and terminology.59 People First London were also responsible for the famed disability slogan that emerged in the 1980s “label jars, not people.” Labelling is also linked to “othering.” Othering is a “way of defining and securing one’s own positive identity through the stigmatisation of an ‘other.’”60 Whatever the markers of social differentiation that shape the meaning of “other” (racial, geographical, ethnic, economic, or ideological) the danger always exists that they will become the basis for a self-affirmation that depends upon the denigration of the other group, creating an “us and “them.” Over the years, social scientists have become increasingly aware of how their disciplines construct, legitimize, and perpetuate “otherness,”61 and so researchers have acknowledged the importance of reflexivity when undertaking research when participants are marginalized in ways they are not.62 I have become progressively drawn to approaches that do not set up binaries. The work of Anna Hickey-Moody for example explores how the term “inclusive” is linked to “otherness” and she questions inclusivity on the basis that it is grounded in a binary model of power relations. Models situating “inclusion” as an aspiration could also set up notions of exclusion unintentionally, which can lead to right/wrong, ability/disability comparisons. Hickey-Moody also reflects on how discourses of inclusion in education have largely become a system of “othering” that can only be dismantled by developing new methods for thinking about identity and embodied difference.63 In “To Label the Label? ‘Learning Disability’ and Exhibiting ‘Critical Proximity’” museum scholar Helen Graham also describes the complexities of labelling within museum contexts, specifically in regard to intellectually-disabled people. Drawing upon 56  Kinsley et al., “(Re)Frame,” 58.

57  Ibid., 59.

58  Simons et al., Sticking Up for Yourself.

59  Finlay and Lyons, “Social Identity and People with Learning Difficulties,” 39.

60  Agelides and Michaelidou, “Collaborative Artmaking for Reducing Marginalization,” 38. 61  Sampson, Celebrating the Other.

62  Traustadóttir, “Research with Others.”

63  Hickey-Moody, Unimaginable Bodies, 43.



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the example of Mabel’s Certificate (2004), an object belonging to a person with the label of intellectual disability that was displayed at The Museum of Croydon, Graham describes how labels are not simply “descriptive but productive.”64 She highlights the thorny relationship between labelling objects and labelling people, recognizing both the political utility in that labels make visible and articulate difference and inequality, but also their limitations, such as over determining and, potentially, fixing difference. Some claim that the artwork should always speak for itself and that a person’s “diagnostic label”65 should not be drawn attention to. Labels can work to differentiate groups, and in doing so they can stigmatize and “other” people. Yet paradoxically, by excluding the biography of inclusive curators and their intellectual disability, do we perhaps miss the political work their exhibition may achieve? Labelling proved a real debate during the curation of Auto Agents. I approached this question with the inclusive curators and framed it as: Should audiences be aware of your label of intellectual disability? What will be gained or lost by people not knowing you have an intellectual disability when visiting the exhibition? After much deliberation the inclusive curators decided that it was important for audiences to know about their intellectual disabilities since their exhibition theme had emerged directly from complicated experiences of autonomy and support as intellectually-disabled people. However, they wanted this not to be, as the group described in their own words, “in your face” and “written on walls,” but weaved subtly into the context of the exhibition. As the project progressed this would prove difficult as Bluecoat included Auto Agents in a “season of inclusive arts at Bluecoat” alongside other intellectual disability-led projects, placing the exhibition directly in the context of disability.66 For the museum team, this prioritized the organization’s scheduling, which is beneficial in terms of audience targeting, marketing, and ticket sales. However, it also meant that the exhibition was unable to shake off the framework of “inclusion” and the work of intellectually-disabled people. This, in the view of some of the inclusive curators, was negative as it did not allow their curatorial work to be viewed on its own merit.

Case Study: Auto Agents, a Text-Free Exhibition

During research visits the inclusive curators spent much of their time recording various forms of interpretation in a number of galleries. The primary issue they faced was interpretative forms based on text and requiring independent reading. Most members of the group ignored any gallery texts displayed. They never picked up hand-outs, press releases, or brochures and would occasionally ask me to read out labels in order to record the artist’s name in their own sketchbook. Text can present substantial barriers for people with intellectual disabilities and as inclusive-research pioneers Jan Walmsley and Kelley Johnson write: “print is possibly the most difficult communication medium 64  Graham, “To Label the Label,” 115.

65  Fox and Macpherson, Inclusive Arts Practice and Research, 12.

66  Anon., “A Season of Inclusive Arts at Bluecoat,” unpag.

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for people with learning disabilities to access or control.”67 However, print is pre-eminently the medium by which ideas are shared in the public domain and we found that approaches to interpretation strategies were chiefly literary.68 The inclusive curators learnt from their research phase that traditional textual interpretation may not be appropriate for their exhibition. Little research has explored how intellectually-disabled curators and artists have approached the labelling and interpretation of their work. The chapter “A Sense of Self” in Know Me As I Am by Dorothy Atkinson and Fiona Williams explores how many artists with disabilities identify themselves and their work through their “immediate environment.”69 Many of the case studies demonstrate intellectually-disabled artists generating texts resembling “life stories” in conjunction to practising visual art, typically produced via interviews with support workers. However, upon reflection, this approach was identified as problematic by both the authors and support workers: “When we listened afterwards to the tapes, we were struck by how easy it is to talk the person down tracks they might not necessarily have gone down […] to ask about particular things that interested us.”70 While there are a handful of examples exploring how intellectually-disabled people have challenged the labelling of their disabilities (“label jars not people,” “learning difficulty not disability”), little work has addressed how intellectually-disabled artists and curators have challenged traditional approaches to labelling and interpretation of themselves and their work in in museum contexts. This was a challenge for me as the project’s facilitator. Since observing the Matisse film during a research visit, which we discussed in the case study in chapter one, the group were interested in using film within their own exhibition as a way of “telling audiences about it.” I discussed with Eddie in particular about why the Matisse film featured in Tate Liverpool resonated with him so much. “The film makes you want to look at it and look at it some more. See how the paper is crinkly there,” Eddie explained. “I really want to have a go at making that.” With Freeman Tilden’s principles of interpretation in mind (“The chief aim of Interpretation is not instruction, but provocation”71), was seeing Matisse’s process of making a provocation for Eddie? Does this explain why he, and others in the curatorial group, were so keen for their own interpretation to also show visitors the making process? The result was that Auto Agents became a predominantly a text-free exhibition, reflecting the ways in which the inclusive curators differently read, write, and communicate. The inclusive curators thought critically over a significant period of time about the inclusion of text into their own exhibition, and decided that, with facilitation, this was an opportunity to “do it their own way” and relate the approaches to interpretation to their big idea of autonomy. Rather than traditional labels, text panels, verbose artist 67  Walmsley and Johnson, Inclusive Research with People with Learning Disabilities, 162.

68  Kuh, “Explaining Art Visually,” 52.

69  Atkinson and Williams, Know Me As I Am, 11. 70  Ibid., 228.

71  Tilden, Interpreting Our Heritage, 18.



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Figure 11: Auto Agents interpretation film installed at Bluecoat, 2016

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statements, and hand-outs, Auto Agents instead featured a single short film filmed collaboratively between themselves and the artists. This method relates to what Umberto Eco calls an “open” work: a work whose interpretation is not “rigidly pre-established and ordained” by a set of tight cultural references, but rather invites “freedom of reception,” offering wide interpretive possibilities.72 The film, which is just under three minutes long, begins with the inclusive curators introducing themselves and the starting-point for the exhibition; their own lives and experiences. “We the curators all have something in common,” Leah’s voice-over explains on the video. “We have different kinds of independence and different levels of support. We wanted the artists to think about these things and, what’s interesting is, everyone made something which involves action.”73 Although the concept of autonomy is highly politicized for intellectually-disabled people, through their work with the inclusive curators the artists in Auto Agents interpreted that concept and made it their own. In addition, the film includes short segments made by each artist filmed throughout the curatorial process, thereby providing a window into the relational and participatory approaches to creating the exhibition. For example, in James’s segment of the interpretation film, we see him constructing his artwork within his studio. The film is overlayed with a combination of voice-over and sounds of drills, sawing, and making; building up a real sense of the environment of his studio. With regard to “non-verbal” art forms like 72  Eco, The Open Work, 6.

73  See https://vimeo.com/192776148.

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the visual arts, Roy Harris questions: “Do we really need words to ‘interpret’ painting or music? And do words in any case afford interpretations that are adequate to the actual visual or auditory experience?”74 Producing a film, instead of a textual interpretation, enabled the inclusive curators to draw upon a wider range of visual and auditory information and experience including their own literal voices, the artist’s voices, the sounds and images of making the artwork to construct a rich context. This methodology in developing interpretation for Auto Agents illuminates the participatory and relational potential of curating. It also exemplifies the potential for the process of curating to be politicized. The non-existence of text in Auto Agents challenges the norms of the museum, which primarily rely on text, and contributes towards activating change within the institution itself through providing new solutions to an area of previous tension: challenging artspeak. The group chose to use their capacity as inclusive curators to orientate visitors to their ways of understanding art, which emphatically for them, is not through text. This approach to interpretation proved effective, with art critic Patrick Kirk-Smith commenting in a review (2019):75 It made for one of the most accessible exhibitions Bluecoat has ever shown, where the viewers got presented with work that was absolutely to be taken at face value in the most blunt way. It was really wonderful and an exhibition I will never forget.

This disruption of the status quo could also be viewed in light of Jacques Rancière’s writings on politics that is usually not thought of as politics, such as the exercise of power from bureaucracies which he renames “la police.” Politics is what occurs when the dominant social order is disrupted.76 In this context, the exclusion of text disrupts the “dominant order” within the institution opening up new possibilities of ways to “know” about art. This process, however, was not easy. As inclusive curator Diana succinctly explained; “People might think we aren’t using text because we can’t do it, instead of saying: Here’s a new way and it’s good.” By excluding text, the inclusive curators drew attention to their status as intellectually-disabled people but, at the same time, they foregrounded an important quality of art: the ability to view and imagine the world differently. This approach to interpretation also enabled visitors to experience a progressively relational engagement with the artwork as meaning was not mediated via text, which is inaccessible to many people. Moreover, despite great efforts on the part of design teams and curators, “it is well documented that many visitors do not view exhibits in the intended order.”77 It is difficult to predict how a visitor will move through space and many museums have multiple points of entry and exit and, once in the gallery, there are numerous ways to move through it.78 As a result, we gained some feedback that people did not understand what the exhibition was about, but when asked if they had watched the video, they 74  Harris, Necessity of Artspeak, 26.

75  Kirk-Smith, “Blue Room at 10,” unpag.

76  Rancière, “Ten Theses on Politics.”

77  Falk and Dierking, The Museum Experience, 71. 78  Schertz, “The Curator as Scholar,” 279.



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Figure 12: Auto Agents “drawing tours,” 2017

said no, presenting a significant limitation with using video as the only interpretative tool. The inclusive curators, however, felt that this risk had been worth taking.

Case Study: Drawing Tours

To further engage museum visitors, the inclusive curators wanted to provide visitor tours of the exhibition. Together we practised giving tours but most of the group found it too difficult to remember and recall information about each artist and each piece of artwork. Additionally, Tony and Hannah did not enjoy public speaking which meant much of the talking was left to the others. We attempted using prompts, such as photographs, but these only worked to varying degrees of success for different members. Finally, we thought about how we as a group explored exhibitions and decided to try a completely different approach inspired by one of the Bluecoat Blue Room’s methods of engaging with art. When Blue Room members explore a new exhibition, they sketch it. This is the approach we adopted in the first phase of our own research. This method not only produces a visual record of a visit, but the act of drawing supports people to really observe. Instead of leading visitors on a traditional exhibition tour, with the expectation of the inclusive curators verbally explaining their exhibition and works in it, we used this drawing approach to invite visitors to sketch the artwork with us as a way of supported looking and engaging during the tour. As we sketched together, conversations and questions naturally arose. Inclusive curators would approach visitors as they drew which meant they had multiple one-on-one discussions rather than a single conversa-

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tion addressing the entire group. This meant that the shyer members could all participate. When the inclusive curators were “stuck” and unsure of what to say, they asked about what visitors were drawing and what they saw in the work, instigating an active dialogue. Indeed, Doug Knapp and Brian Forist advocate this sort of active dialogue between the interpreter and visitors: In a dialogic approach, the interpreter is aware of the visitors and the place in which they have gathered. The visitors are no longer seen as vessels to be filled with information or individuals not yet connected to resources. The respectful relationship between interpreter and visitors is at the center of the ensuing dialogue.79

Dialogue-based interpretation is focused on the visitors and their interaction with objects rather than a planned presentation by the interpreter. It attempts to move away from didactic one-way presentations to active two-way communication between the visitors and the interpretive message. This approach is complex and challenging but increases the potential for visitors to make personal connections, creating lasting memories of their experience. However, not knowing a “specific trajectory” for a tour can be seen by some “as a process that lacks guidance and control.”80 In terms of the drawing tours, the structure was clear: visitors were invited to initiate and lead the conversation supported by observational drawing—the inclusive curator’s role was simply to respond. This open-ended, emergent approach supported inclusive curators in engaging with visitors in-the-moment and on their own terms. This also meant that little intervention and facilitation was required. Museum engagement as an interactive or dialogic process has a long history in museum studies.81 This includes emphasizing museum-visiting as a social experience:82 positioning participation as the core value of the museum,83 placing value on conversations with strangers in public spaces about issues,84 and the importance of face-to-face encounters with “real” objects. Elaine Heumann Gurian neatly summarizes this in her imagining of the ideal museum as “real things in real space among real people.”85 Drawing tours were a place that supported the inclusive curators and visitors to interact and share views and experiences with each other. More so than the more formal events, or even the launch, this is where conversations took place.

79  Knapp and Forist, “A New Interpretive Pedagogy,” 35.

80  Ibid., 37.

81  Black, The Engaging Museum.

82  Coffee, “Audience Research and the Museum Experience as Social Practice.”

83  Simon, The Participatory Museum. 84  Abram, “Kitchen Conversations.”

85  Gurian, “Introducing the Blue Ocean Museum.”



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This chapter has introduced the key debates and challenges of inclusively creating interpretation in art museums. We have examined the museum and curators’ “authoritative voice,” inaccessible art languages known as “artspeak” or “curatorspeak,” and the politics and practices of labelling. We have touched upon how museum researchers, practitioners, and artists have sought to challenge and address these issues in creative and participative ways from activities like tours to interventions. Inclusive approaches to language and labelling have been shown to be not about “policing language,” but more about analyzing the meanings (intentional and otherwise) of the words and labels that are used and thinking critically about how they reflect the mission of inclusive curators and their big idea. Here, emphasis has been on two key components: what is being communicated—and secondly—how it is being communicated: both are underpinned by principles of accessibility and inclusion. One case study described how the inclusive curators of Auto Agents employed non-textual interpretation for their exhibition. This approach emerged from the lived experiences of the inclusive curators as intellectuallydisabled people who differently communicate and do not navigate the world primarily through written language. We are not suggesting that all inclusively curated exhibitions should be non-textual, but rather that inclusive curators should be supported to question dominant approaches to create interpretation that reflects their personal perspectives and experiences. Equally, the second case study also explored the “Drawing Tours” event taken from the Auto Agents public programme: Public programmes offer additional ways for visitors to get involved with the exhibition, adding layers and new opportunities for interpretations. Here, the inclusive curators’ drawing tours were considered in relation to museum literature that advocates for dialogical-based interpretation, “forum” models, or “liquid museums,” which privilege the visitors and their interaction with the objects and their personal interpretive messages.

Chapter 5

INSTALLATION AND EXHIBITION With artwork and interpretation plans nearing completion, the next step in the process sees inclusive curators now planning the exhibition installation and marketing, as well as organizing an exhibition opening. Though the installation is always the shortest part of creating an exhibition, it is also the most intense and time pressured, making it a nerve-wracking experience. Although the basis of every exhibition installation is similar, each has its own unique set of circumstances, depending on who you work with, and the objects being installed.1 This is what causes installations to be an unpredictable task, however tightly planned. The term “installation” describes the process of constructing the exhibition into the gallery space. This includes painting walls or floors, fixing or placing the artwork and interpretation in the space, adjusting or adding lighting, and fitting any signage or wayfinding. As many museums tend to have dedicated technical staff who are trained for installing, inclusive curators instead take on an advisory role whereby they “assist in resolving any issues or questions that might develop,” “maintain quality control,”2 and generally oversee that the exhibition comes together in accordance with the plans. For exhibitions which feature more technically specific artwork, such as high-spec projections, sound or moving image, installations can also be a technical process that require a range of external contractors including electricians and structural engineers. Installations are always supported by visual plans, which enable curators to bring together these various elements of the exhibition with a range of stakeholders. This final phase of inclusive curating makes visible the curator’s role as a mediator. The inclusive curators now are required to move and communicate between much larger networks beyond the facilitator and artists, to include the museum’s programming, front of house, marketing, press, and the technical installation teams, as well as those beyond the institution such as external press, contractors, and visitors. Equally, in the final stages of an exhibition the artwork becomes materially bound. The term “object-position,” borrowed from material studies, can be used to describe the relationship between the material object and human, social, and cultural practices and experiences.3 Artwork which may have been discussed in regard to ideas, concepts, plans, and workshops now becomes a tangible and material object. This chapter explores the importance of facilitating inclusive curators to plan and negotiate the overall installation alongside professional museum staff through practical activities and visual planning techniques. But, as the case study below reveals, difficulties can arise during the installation of exhibitions which calls for complex improvization and “situated actions.” This chapter goes on to describe how inclusive curators can 1  Yaneva, “Chalk Steps on the Museum Floor.”

2  Bogle, Museum Exhibition Planning and Design, 125. 3  Keane, “Subjects and Objects,” 198.

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provide input into marketing strategies and make plans for the exhibition opening. In the case of Auto Agents, the inclusive curators carried across their interpretative strategy of using little text into marketing but co-designed a series of moving gifs to advertise their exhibition.

Visual Planning

It is common practice for curators to use scale models, sketches, and drawings of layouts when developing and installing an exhibition.4 Part of being a curator is to “think in terms of space and relationships between things (including people),” but also the “space and the possibilities offered (or precluded) by the architecture,”5 reflecting on how these could potentially affect the installation and overall visitor experience. A sensible starting-point is supporting inclusive curators to produce a model of the exhibition space, taking careful note of the architecture. Bluecoat’s in-house curator Adam Smythe discussed with the inclusive curators of Auto Agents the importance of visual planning because “You start to put an exhibition together in an empty gallery space, but of course it’s not completely empty, it’s not neutral; there’s things that already exist in the gallery like those windows, they’re there and you have to deal with them in some way.”6 It becomes the inclusive curators’ job to identify what makes the exhibition space “nonneutral,” by considering feaures including windows, doors, electricity points, steps or staircases, radiators, and so on. The ways in which visitors move through an exhibition, whether along a clearly defined path or more freely weaving some self-directed path, will impact where artwork and interpretation is placed. Inclusive curators may find it helpful if they are facilitated to produce two-dimensional floor plans to indicate where artworks and interpretation will be installed. 2D floor plans also help to address other issues such as: does the arrangement of artwork and interpretation information make sense to those outside the curatorial team? In many exhibitions, the sequence in which information is received is largely dictated by the layout. Additionally, inclusive curators will need to consider the impact of accessibility (and routing) through the exhibition, the connections or separations among spaces or exhibition elements, and the sequencing and grouping of elements.7 Producing visual plans will not only support the inclusive curators to envision how the exhibition will “look,” but will also help them consider how the exhibition will be navigated by visitors. When such plans and models have been created, the facilitator should organize a meeting where inclusive curators are supported to share their plans with artists and wider museum staff. What negotiations emerge? As Hughes suggests, developing visual plans and sharing these with stakeholders such as artists and technical staff as soon 4  Hughes, Exhibition Design, 87.

5  Schertz, “The Curator as Scholar,” 279.

6  French, “Art as Advocacy,” 96.

7  Wineman and Peponis, “Constructing Spatial Meaning.”



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as possible can help to avoid going too far down a wrong track.8 So, visual planning becomes a place where negotiations take place. As each aspect of the inclusive curator’s and artist’s plan becomes represented—artwork, interpretation, seating, signage—further negotiation and discussion are evoked, acting as a centring device to improve organization. Once inclusive curators and artists have agreed exhibition plans, such as floor layouts or artwork plans, these need to be shared with technical staff such as installation technicians, artwork handlers, electricians, and building managers. Through visual plans coordination, and sometimes tension, occurs. They can facilitate the joining of not only multiple meaning, but “multiple forms and formats of coded and uncoded, verbal, visual, mathematical, and tacit knowledge.”9 Once visual plans have been discussed and refined, facilitators will need to support inclusive curators to work with the wider team and refine plans collectively. When the actual installation begins inclusive curators can use this period to test out aspects of the exhibition. Depending on the timeline, it is not uncommon for curators to test the space by inviting museum staff to observe the space, and invite feedback. This can be helpful with modifications, such as finding typing errors in texts, the levels of lighting.

Case Study: Creating a Model of the Gallery

To support inclusive curators in deciding where artworks might be installed in the gallery, I suggested making a model of the gallery space that we could then employ away from the gallery (or, as Diana put it, “something to jog my memory.”) We began making our model by visiting the gallery and making sketches, notes, and taking photographs of the space around us. The group was split in half—one group concentrated on documenting the ground floor level and the other on the first and second floors. With the information collected, we constructed a model of the gallery using cardboard. We painted it to match the colours of the gallery and included where windows, lifts, doors, and radiators were positioned. While this model was not precisely to scale, it did provide a practical, hands-on approach for the group to assess the space and consider possibilities of where artworks could go. In later workshops, as the commissions were realized, the group also made models of the artworks and placed them inside the model. In our last workshop before the exhibition opened, I was able to work with the group in the empty gallery space where their exhibition would be installed. In this final workshop, we discussed where each item would be best placed, to feed back to the artists. Conflicting opinions arose and the group had different views on where some of the artworks would be best placed. For example, Diana and Hannah felt that James’s largescale seed sculpture should be placed in front of the main ground floor window and benefit from the light. They also felt it would make an impact on visitors as this would be the first piece they would see upon entering the space. Other members of the group argued that it would be “stuck out on its own” and would “not look right.” Tony’s and Leah’s views tended to be instinctual and they gave little reason other than it did not 8  Ibid., 91.

9  Henderson, Online and on Paper, 199.

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Figure 13: Model of gallery by curators, 2016

“feel right.” However, the placement of the artworks had been discussed between the artists and inclusive curators throughout the project, so there were no surprises when the group shared their final plans. Placement emerged from a process of collaboration, and most decisions were made in light of practical considerations. For example, James’s sculpture was commissioned specifically to fit in an area of the gallery which had an unusually high ceiling. Mark required a large wall for his projection that was positioned in easy view for visitors, which required access to electricity points. The relational aspect of curating became tangible, not just between people, but also between structures and objects. While many decisions were joint, on occasion the artists were clear about their wishes regarding particular aspects of their artwork’s installation. For instance, the inclusive curators had chosen where Alaena’s paintings would be situated within the gallery, but Alaena held precise views on how she wished her paintings to be hung (such as the order) and provided plans for the inclusive curators and technicians. The inclusive curators were happy with this arrangement and, in a Skype conversation with Alaena, Eddie commented; “well you know them best, don’t you,” when she offered to send over here plans.



Situated Actions

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All curators and exhibition teams invest time thinking carefully about the exhibition installation for many months at a time, yet it is possible that the installation process will require unexpected practical and aesthetic decisions. This can be down to practical contractor or delivery problems but, more often, artists and curators may change their minds and “edit works in progress” or make “visual decisions” about placement once inside the actual space.10 Even though curatorial teams dedicate much time to visual planning, particularly in regard to the placement of the artwork, and specifically how these placements generate connections, the outcome of the exhibition installation can lead to “surprise moments” wherein curators observe new emergent themes or relations between artworks not planned for or anticipated. This means installing art exhibitions can take a considerable amount of time; Auto Agents took a week to install. The bulk of this time is spent moving things around, stepping back, looking, adjusting, and perhaps moving pieces again based on a curator’s sense of what “feels right.” Exhibition installations can be seen as a combination of plans and “situated actions.”11 “Situated action” is a term that emphasizes responsiveness to the environment and the improvisatory nature of human activity. As Lucy Suchman notes in her key study of human–machine interaction,12 while action is generally described as adhering to coherent plans, in practice action is actually accomplished via ad hoc “situated actions.” We take for granted our ability to continually evolve our plans in response to our situation. Rather than treating plans as a blueprint of action, it makes more sense to treat them as a resource for action. The idea here is that we make plans to get the best results before entering a situation, and we draw upon those plans while within the situation. But if circumstances change, we obviously do not continue to blindly follow the plan—we adapt it. Similarly, Chester Barnard wrote, in the appendix to The Functions of the Executive, about our “non-logical processes” under which he describes the “skilful judgements, decisions and actions we undertake spontaneously.”13 We may then reflect on action, thinking back to what we have done, or we may pause in the midst of action and critical decisions, what Hannah Arendt called “stop-and-think.”14 Arendt is perhaps best known for dealing with the nature of power and evil, particularly at the trial of Adolf Eichmann through her attempt to explain how ordinary people become actors in totalitarian systems. During the trial of Eichmann, which Arendt covered for The New Yorker in 1961, she presented thinking on the significance of thoughtfulness and thoughtlessness. Later, Arendt commented that the only notable characteristic she could detect in Eichmann “was something entirely negative: it was not stupidity but thoughtlessness” as Eichmann had failed “to stop and think.”15 Psychologist Gary Klein also explored how people make 10  Acord, “Beyond the Head,” 453.

11  Ibid.

12  Suchman, Plans and Situated Actions.

13  Schön, The Reflective Practitioner, 24.

14  Arendt, Responsibility and Judgement, 105.

15  Arendt, The Life of the Mind, 4.

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ad hoc decisions, based on observations of people acting under such real-life constraints such as time pressure, high stakes, personal responsibility, and shifting conditions. The professionals he studied included firefighters, critical-care nurses, pilots, nuclear power plant operators, battle planners, and chess masters. Klein described how experts “see the invisible” because they know what signs to look for in recalculating a plan of action and then carry it out. He also described the non-linear aspects of problem-solving: an iterative process where you are continually updating your mental model with the results of what has occurred compared to your expectations.16 What all these theories have in common is how people create plans which are open to review and improvization in response to situations. The key lesson here when facilitating inclusive curating is to recognize that inclusive curators should be central in steering any situated actions during the installation period. However, this can be challenging. Museums typically have dedicated technicians and contractors to install exhibitions; therefore it is likely inclusive curators will not be directly involved with the installation. This means there can be a lot of “hanging about” for curators while they are on-call to make decisions as and when they arise. For inclusive curators, who perhaps meet on a set day of the week to undertake the project alongside other commitments, this can pose a problem which is explored in the next case study.

Case Study: Installing Auto Agents

The installation of Auto Agents was a bumpy ride! The inclusive curators and I had engaged in lengthy, detailed discussions and workshops with the artists and museum staff over a long period of time. Yet the reality is that they, and curators everywhere engaging in commissioning, cannot know the final outcome of the commissioned work in advance nor prepare for what they experience in their first encounter with the finished work. As we discovered, the installation process can have considerable impact on the final exhibition. The inclusive curators spent the first day of the installation finalizing where things would go. However, they did not have the benefit of the artwork in situ at that time, and so their decisions were predominantly determined by plans and maquettes of artworks. The main difficulty of the installation began when James’s fabricator let him down and could no longer produce an integral metal part for his moving sculpture. This happened on the second day of the installation when James had already delivered the majority of his work to Bluecoat. Without this piece, James was required to reconfigure his sculpture on site. Instead of moving parts inside the main sculpture as originally planned, the moving parts now operated outside the main sculpture as a separate piece of work. For the technicians, this change ensured that the piece was safe for visitors to operate, and for James and me, it still spoke to the inclusive curators’ vision of movement controlled by audiences as stated in the original brief and design. This recalibration of the artwork required rapid-fire problem-solving: re-wiring, portable-appliance testing, and the ingenious fabrication of a wooden gear complete with marble ball bear16  Klein, Sources of Power.



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ings. But these changes raised the less obvious and implicit process of the “signing off” on the authorial content of the work. In other words, did these changes in the artwork still fulfil the inclusive curators’ original brief for the commission? After all, we were not only accountable to the inclusive curators’ vision for the commission, but also to the Arts Council England from whom the funds for the commission was awarded. As a result, the networks of people underpinning the museum emerged: not only Bluecoat’s own staff and the numerous technicians, but also institutionally-affiliated individuals and groups of engineers and electricians. We explained these networks to the group by referring to Hannah’s “independence” artwork which we outlined in “Finding the Big Idea.” Just as Hannah requires networks of people and support to enable her to attend a performance group, so commissions and artworks also require networks of people and support for them to be made and exhibited. However, the inclusive curators were left out of these situated actions. James’s piece was not the only change to occur with commissions,17 but it was the first change to occur without the inclusive curators’ explicit consent. Due to their own tightly managed schedules, they could only be in the museum for the pre-agreed one day per week for the duration of the project and, as the project facilitator, I was entrusted to manage the process on their behalf. Here, we see how intellectually-disabled people’s lives can be risk-averse; it was impossible to change their schedules and risk them “losing out” on their usual routines. The inclusive curators’ first encounter with Auto Agents brimmed with excitement, but then confusion sank in. Bluecoat’s lobby was already filling up for what would be a particularly busy exhibition-opening. Away from the crowds, the inclusive curators had only a few minutes to look around the exhibition before the speeches started and the audience would be let in. This gave nowhere near the amount of time required to explain the series of changes that had occurred over just a few days. Upon reflection, it is interesting to think that an object such as James’s metal mechanism not being correctly fabricated threw off months of preparation and planning. This evidenced how in the final stages of an exhibition the work becomes materially-bound. Objects, such as James’s mechanism, have non-objective consequences for mediation; they do not simply perform the “scripts” they are given. Objects, just as much as people, can produce significant effects. This could also be understood in terms of Actor Network Theory (ANT), as developed in the 1980s by Bruno Latour,18 Michel Callon19 and John Law. ANT can be defined as a research method with a focus on the connections and relations between both human and non-human entities. Through the Auto Agents installation, one can see that the museum is not a stable milieu, where actors’ activities are predictable and inscribed in fixed roles and statuses. Similarly, the installation is not guided entirely by a set of established rules; it stands somewhere between routine and uncertainty and this 17  In James’s original proposal he had hoped to suspend the main sculpture from the ceiling. However, after seeking advice from a structural engineer, he decided against it and this was agreed with the curators. 18  Latour, Reassembling the Social.

19  Callon, “The Sociology of an Actor-Network.”

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is regulated by situated actions. This has led Albena Yaneva to consider the museum as not just an “external frame that is housing different art installations”20 but what occurs “in the operations, in the controversies and the hesitating gestures […] by a set of risks and fears, objects’ manifestations, space fragilities, security requirements, interdictions, and precautions.”21 In the inclusive curators’ workshop following the opening we undertook a full evaluation of the exhibition and the overall project. I ran this evaluation workshop using Edward De Bono’s Six Thinking Hats,22 a tool for group discussion, thinking, and problem-solving involving six coloured hats. Each hat represents a different mode of thinking to help participants look at decision-making from different points of view. Eddie was unhappy at the opening, and he was still annoyed during the following workshop. I concentrated on listening to the group’s feelings on the exhibition and then explaining the culmination of circumstances that brought about the changes to the work in the first place. I also felt that the group would likely have felt differently if they had experienced the extreme pressure of the situation. In some ways, they were protected from this. While having inclusive curators on site during the installation is clearly the best way to mitigate this type of situation, if inclusive curators could not be on site then a solution could be to record the chain of events. Perhaps recording the circumstances via video, for example, or interviews with technicians, then the issues at stake could have been more tangible for the group. Interestingly, I sensed Eddie, Tony, and Diana—the three Blue Room members—found it hardest to accept the difficulties in the installation. However, Hannah in particular demonstrated great understanding about the risk involved. In the workshop, Eddie postulated that, maybe, the exhibition should not have opened that day if it was not ready. But Hannah responded with “but the show must go on.” Donna explained this is something they discuss in her performing arts group (Ella) and that “things seen as going wrong” are a very real part of shaping art.

Activity: Evaluating Using Six Thinking Hats

This activity combines the strengths of six different thinking states: rational, positive, creative, emotional, optimistic, and pessimistic, by prompting participants to consider the same project through this full spectrum of thinking. Set up time: 5 minutes, Activity time: 30 mins What to Do A “six thinking hats” session is guided by a facilitator and each of these hats is “worn” by participants. These hats may be metaphorical, or physical, and each change of “hat” then indicates a different approach to thinking. By the end of a session a project will thus 20  Yaneva, “When a Bus Met a Museum,” 124.

21  Ibid., 126.

22  DeBono, Six Thinking Hats.



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have been considered from a range of viewpoints. I have created an activity template (see the following page) featuring explanations of the hats alongside example questions for the facilitator. Facilitators should remain as the blue hat, the hat that chairs and manages the session, working through the various hats (red, white, yellow, black and finishing on green). The facilitator could deliver this activity as a discussion session only, or they could invite participants to respond to the questions and thinking styles through drawing or art making. In my experience, a combination of both works best. Tips

Why not invite participants to design and create the six thinking hats to bring a fun and creative element to the evaluation?

Marketing and Exhibition Opening

Marketing has quickly gained an important place in the agendas of those engaged in museum management.23 As Denise Cole neatly describes,24 two major forces lead museums to proactively engage with marketing activity. Firstly, “the stick”: the need to increase visitor numbers to either justify government funding or simply to remain financially viable through increasing revenue through shops, publications, events, and catering. The latter has however been much-critiqued in debates about neoliberal governance in the culture of arts management.25 Secondly, “the carrot”: the desire to become more people-oriented through strategies that reflect the needs and preferences of the current and potential audience. As well as attracting new audiences,26 Hayes and Slater27 also champion the value of marketing strategies to deepen the commitment of the existing audience through volunteering, free events, and education. Clearly, for the majority of museums marketing is “a survival tool”28 and inclusive curators must engage with how and why their exhibition will be marketed. Most museums will have dedicated marketing staff who will be knowledgeable and experienced in supporting both in-house and visiting curators in getting their exhibition into the public realm. They will have distribution, mailing, and press lists, as well as access to social media, print media, and the museum’s website and brochures. The challenge for inclusive curators is to work with marketing staff to ensure their “big idea” gets successfully translated. For Auto Agents, just as text was not employed as a mode of communication or interpretation within the exhibition, neither did the inclusive curators choose text as the primary way to market their exhibition. Having minimal text to market an exhibition was a challenge for museum staff and, upon further research, co-production in museum mar23  Lagier and De Barnier, “Marketing of Art or Art of Marketing,” 2.

24  Cole, “Museum Marketing as a Tool for Survival and Creativity,” 177. 25  Belfiore, “Auditing Culture.”

26  Rentschler, “Museum Marketing.”

27  Hayes and Slater, “Rethinking the Missionary Position.” 28  Rentschler and Hede, Museum Marketing, 12.

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THINKING HAT 1. Blue Hat: This hat is the management hat, the process is one of control. It’s the hat worn by the facilitator and should be used to manage the other thinking hats, the flow of ideas and timing. If, for example, emotions are taking over when evaluating, then the “blue hat thinking” might suggest switching to “white hat thinking” to focus only on the available facts and information. 2. Red Hat: This hat represents emotions and feelings. “Red hat thinking” brings to light intuitive feelings and opinions to help guide the problem-solving process. It intuitively presents effective solutions and direction for further action based on its personal feelings and hunches. The red hat is very open-minded and seeks to identify and clarify other people’s feelings. 3. White Hat: This hat represents information. A white hat collects facts, statistics, and data that helps it piece together the information needed to reach logical fact-based solutions. That is its primary role. It collects this evidence to help the other thinking hats work through the problem more effectively. The white hat must, however, avoid making conclusions or judgments about the information it has collected. 4. Yellow Hat: This hat represents optimism. The primary role of the yellow hat is to move through the myriad of obstacles to a solution in a realistic and positive way—to keep things going when they appear all doom and gloom. “Yellow hat thinking” sees no boundaries or limitations and wholeheartedly believes that if there is a means, then they will find a way.

5. Black Hat: This hat represents discernment. Black hat is the cautious thinking that scrutinizes ideas brought forth by the other hats, offering “worst case scenarios” or least favourable outcomes and consequences. The black hat, however, doesn’t just poke holes in ideas. It will also bring to mind the various resources that you need to accomplish your objective better next time. 6. Green Hat: This hat represents creativity. This includes “blue sky thinking” where you develop creative ideas and solutions, opening doors to new ways of thinking to unlock new understandings and opportunities. The green hat isn’t constrained by standard rules of thinking about a problem. It understands that rules are made to be broken.

Tool 10: Six Thinking Hats

keting appears relatively low.29 On the other hand, the inclusive curators collaborated with exhibiting artist Mark to produce a series of gifs (a moving graphic image on a web page, presenting short sequences which loop endlessly). Gifs had been of interest to the group since James’s initial workshop in which he shared the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory gif. Mark also became interested in gifs as he felt mutual themes of action and movement were present in his work with the group. After a workshop in which we all made our own practice gifs for a Bluecoat exhibition, Mark designed three gifs for Auto Agents, under direction from the inclusive curators. In addition to the gifs, the flyers for the exhibition had minimal text—title, date, location—but showcased a design by Mark and the inclusive curators on brightly coloured paper. This was certainly a risk in many people’s eyes, but it made sense for them (and their community) who did not communicate through text. 29  Davies, “The Co-Production of Temporary Museum Exhibitions,” 314.



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EXAMPLE HINT QUESTIONS What was the goal? What did you set out to achieve? What happened? Was the outcome what you expected?

What is your gut feeling telling you about this project? How has doing the project made you feel? What are your feelings telling you about the choices you made? Based on my feelings, was there a better way to go about this? Intuitively, did everyone do a good job?

What are the facts? How will we go about acquiring the facts, stats and data that to help evaluate? What potential solutions and outcomes based on the facts, stats, and data we have already collected? What was the best idea to come out of the project? What positive outcomes have resulted from this project for each stakeholder? What are the long-term benefits of this project? What was single biggest issue in this project? What was the drawback to this way of thinking or doing? What were the risks and consequences? Did you have the necessary resources, skills, and support to pull this off?

What alternative possibilities could exist here? If you could write the rules, what would your museum look and feel like? Without constraints or parameters, what would you have done differently? What if …?

In addition to collaborating in the development of marketing, the inclusive curators were required to support the development of the exhibition’s opening event. Historically, art exhibitions have been opened with an event called a “private view” or vernissage: a special viewing by invitation only, normally at the start of a public exhibition. Typically, wine and light refreshments are served in the form of a reception. If the artworks are by a living artist, they are expected to attend and the museum will be responsible for inviting professionals in the sector. Yet today in the UK, the majority of private views are not just for museum or art professionals but open to the public and widely advertised. The term “private view” is considered by many as a “desperately old-fashioned term riddled with connotations of elitism, privilege, wealth, exclusion and clubbability.”30 So why do artists, curators, and museums continue to use this phrase? Louise suggests31 that its origins and “baggage” have not been examined, but also postulates that there remains a 30  Louise, “Rant 76: Why are Openings still called Private Views?,” unpag.

31  Ibid.

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“psychological need for distinction, and an emotional need to associate with and belong to the ‘elite of successful artists.’” Others argue that by calling these events “private views” people from outside the art sector are prevented from experiencing these events, and this in turn adds another level of inaccessibility to art.32 During a PATH exercise, the inclusive curators of Auto Agents made clear they wanted a “party” atmosphere at their exhibition launch, one that would take place in the evening and follow a traditional format of a private view. The event opened with speeches from the museum’s director, the exhibiting artists, and inclusive curators, and was followed by wine, music, and an opportunity to explore the exhibition with the inclusive curators. The group wanted their exhibition launch in the evening to link into the national campaign circulating at that time called “Stay Up Late.”33 Stay Up Late, now a registered charity, draws attention to inflexible support-staff rotas that mean intellectually-disabled people cannot “stay late” or attend evening events. The inclusive curators wanted to draw attention to this struggle that intellectually-disabled people face and highlighted this inequality in their speech. Exhibition openings are opportunities to bring together the networks of people who have participated in and supported the exhibition’s development: the artists’ and curators’ family, friends, and places of work, partner organizations, museum staff, and the local community. The other advantage to an opening exhibition is that the curators, artists, facilitator, and all of the museum staff will be present, so visitors are able to talk to them about their work. Exhibition openings are ordinarily busy events which can sometimes make it difficult to view the works and they can be inaccessible to certain groups. Alternatively, exhibition openings can be day-time events with activities, tours, or workshops. They may be day-long events, or two-hour drop-ins. So, private views do not need to be “private” nor simple “viewing” events; they can reflect the messages of the inclusive curators and be an extension of their big idea.

Case Study: Auto Agents on Tour

Auto Agents opened to excellent reviews by local and national press. It was included in A-N’s “top exhibitions” of the week34 and reviewed by Art in Liverpool,35 who also featured it in their roundup of the “best of 2016.”36 In a later (2019) review “Blue Room at 10” art critic Patrick Kirk-Smith reflected: It was Auto Agents that has stuck with me most though, working with contemporary artists and academics, the artists at Blue Room engaged in passionate discussion about what art was to them, and took a leading role in curating an exhibition at Bluecoat. Hannah Ballass, Tony Carroll, Diana Disley, Leah Jones and Eddie Rauer took the lead in curating the exhibition with the support of Jade French and artists Mark Simmonds and James Harper,

32  Khan, “What’s Wrong with Art.” unpag.

33  See https://stayuplate.org/.

34  Anon., “NOW SHOWING #176,” unpag.

35  Kirk-Smith, “Review: Auto Agents: AaA Collective,” unpag. 36  Kirk-Smith, “2016 Round Up,” unpag.



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who made new work in an entirely new way, focussing on shared experiences of making and thinking, rather than assuming any learned understanding of art.37

Following this success, when Auto Agents closed at Bluecoat in January 2017, it went on to open at another gallery, The Brindley in Cheshire, from March 4 to April 15, 2017. This second iteration of the exhibition was not foreseen when the project was first proposed, but rather came about through a partnership development between Bluecoat and The Brindley at that time and due to the perceived success of the project. The exhibition at The Brindley, although it was the same artwork, looked and felt different. Firstly, The Brindley’s gallery is physically a very different shape, size, and layout. The majority of the artwork in Auto Agents was commissioned specifically for display at Bluecoat in “The Vide” gallery, an unusual space with concrete walls and extremely high ceilings. The Brindley’s gallery is almost the opposite. It is located in a round building, creating a long thin curved space. The inclusive curators and artists had to think carefully about how to reconfigure the work. Dealing with these physical limitations became easier when the group began producing visual plans of The Brindley’s gallery. The projector was already wired in at one end of the gallery, and the opposite end had a temporary partition wall which the inclusive curators felt could be used to create a “cinema room” for their interpretation video. They felt that when the video was displayed in Bluecoat it was difficult to watch as there were no seats, so by utilizing the partition wall they were able to create a separate space with seating. Secondly, the different institutional context affected the exhibition. The Brindley is an arts building run by a municipal authority, as opposed to Bluecoat which is an established charity. We experienced less institutional support, as the arts manager had left post and was not replaced. Not having a direct contact to liaise with meant we could only ran one event during Auto Agents at The Brindley. This event was designed by inclusive curator, Leah, and titled Celebrate Me (2017). It formed part of her own self-advocacy business Positive You. Throughout the inclusive curatorial project, Leah had been looking for opportunities to bring her own work into the project. This event at The Brindley presented a great opportunity as the dates coincided with World Down Syndrome Day on March 21, 2017, a cause Leah is passionate about. Celebrate Me was a free drop-in activity where visitors were invited to create their own celebratory bunting as part of an arts installation. Leah designed the event to celebrate the lives and dreams of people who, like her, have Down Syndrome through creating a piece of bunting. As bunting is a decoration traditionally used at parties and symbolizes celebration, Leah wanted to use this idea to help people celebrate their own lives, raising awareness of the potential people with Down Syndrome have when given opportunities and autonomy to make their own decisions. In her words: “On their piece of bunting people recorded their proudest moments, qualities they like about themselves, and their future dreams. When each piece of bunting was pieced together it produced a fantastic display of self-esteem from the Down syndrome community.”38 37  Kirk-Smith, “Blue Room at 10,” unpag.

38  French and Jones, “Positive You,” 199.

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Celebrate Me was attended by thirty-six families with Down Syndrome across the North West of England. The campaign was covered in the local newspaper39 and Leah was also interviewed by regional television news to discuss the exhibition and be a spokesperson for why building self-esteem was especially important for people with Down Syndrome. The success of Celebrate Me continued. Later in the year researcher Emma Curd invited Leah to take part in a 2017 event at Tate Liverpool, Art, Activism and Language; Feminist Issues in Museums and Galleries.40 Rather than aiming the campaign solely at people with Down Syndrome, this time Leah opened up Celebrate Me to a broader audience. “I was inspired by the famed feminist slogan ‘the personal is political.’ I wanted the wider public and Tate Liverpool’s visitors to think about the importance of self-esteem through celebrating themselves.”41 Similarly to the workshop at The Brindley, collaborative bunting was produced over a day and displayed within the gallery alongside Tate’s celebrated collection. Celebrate Me was the most successful event run as part of Auto Agents’ public programme. The lesson from this was that enabling opportunities for individual inclusive curators to take the lead on developing smaller aspects of the project, such as public programming, provides scope for rich interpretations. In subsequent inclusive curatorial projects, I have recommended to groups that the public programme could consist of events or interventions led by each individual. This has proved fruitful, though it is worth adding that simultaneously supporting individuals through such project management is time-intensive for the facilitator.

Summary

This chapter has explored ways to support inclusive curators to finalize where artworks will be located inside the gallery space, as well as planning and negotiating the overall installation alongside professional museum staff. We have seen that placement of artwork contains a mix of practical and aesthetic considerations which can lead to “surprise moments” and situated actions. Rather than viewing installation plans for exhibitions as “fool-proof,” inclusive curators and museum installation teams may instead need to respond to the spontaneous nature of situated actions that occur through installation, reworking plans on-site. This chapter has also provided some practical activities in supporting inclusive curators to think critically about these decisions, including visual planning techniques. During this final step of the process of curating an exhibition, inclusive curators must also be supported to think about their input into marketing strategies and make plans for the exhibition opening, and how this relates to the traditional “private view” format. As the project draws to a close, facilitators can support the wider project team to evaluate the project, and for this we have presented a participatory approach using six thinking hats. 39  Gordon, “Inspirational Workshop Celebrates Down Syndrome,” unpag.

40  Anon. (for Tate Liverpool), “Celebrate Me Bunting Workshop,” unpag. 41  French and Jones, “Positive You,” 200.



Final Thoughts

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Inclusive curating was an outcome of thinking practically about how museums might respond to matters of diversity, representation, and inclusion in the art world. We stated in this book’s introduction that inclusive curating is not a “utopic solution” to remedy systemic issues such as these, but there is value in what Kirshenblatt-Gimblett describes as “utopian imagination.”42 Imagining everybody as a potential curator moved me to examine how exhibitions could be developed by a wider spectrum of people outside traditional curatorial models. Despite the impossibility of reaching utopia, utopian imagination works to inspire innovation, to challenge the status quo and transform our world for the better. Since Auto Agents, the inclusive curators have continued practising in museums as artists, performers, and curators. Tony, Eddie and Diana have been involved with exhibitions including Blue Room at Ten (Bluecoat 2018), Let the Hands Do the Talking (Royal Standard 2019) and Exploring the Wilderness (Project Artworks, Tate Liverpool, 2019). Tony and Diana have developed a new dance practice, in collaboration with Liverpool Improvisation Collective, making new interdisciplinary work and facilitating workshop activities.43 Leah has continued to run her project Positive You and has gone on to curate exhibitions independently. In April 2019 Leah curated Recipe for a Good Life at The Brindley, a visual arts exhibition that explored what living a “good life” means to intellectually-disabled people and their networks. This exhibition, which featured artworks made by intellectually-disabled people and their supporters, was featured on BBC News television.44 It is satisfying to see their self-directed exhibitions and projects now garnering national recognition. At the beginning of this book, Eddie drew attention to the opacity and mysteriousness of the curator’s role, querying “What do curators actually do?” However, this book demonstrates that curating is not mysterious and can be broken down into an actionable process. By interrogating curatorship and breaking it down in the ways demonstrated in this book, curating can become usable for more people, challenging the perception that it is an exclusive job for the privileged few. At the same time, this new attention to process explicitly evidences curatorial decisions and ways of working, making curating more rigorous and transparent. By enabling this greater rigour and transparency regarding how exhibitions are curated, I hope that this book contributes not just a practical method, but also opens up a better understanding of the process and practices by which our cultural spaces can become democratized.

42  Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, “The Museum—A Refuge for Utopian Thought,” 1.

43  Shock, “Expanding the Picture,” unpag.

44  BBC North West Tonight, “Recipe for a Good Life,”

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