Thinking Contemporary Curating. Terry Smith

Thinking Contemporary Curating - Terry  Smith


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from working within what was essentially a literary genre—a belle lettrist writing of essays, commenting on events, and reviewing of books—to providing regular responses to the shows presented (we would now say, softly, curated) by the art dealers shaping the emergent commercial gallery scene in New York, then we might also say that the height of Robert Hughes’s art writing was achieved as he grappled with the blockbusters staged by the major public galleries in the city during the 1970s and 1980s, notably those presented by curators such as William Rubin, Walter Hopps and Henry Geldzahler. Critics active since then who seek to place their immediate responses within larger, unfolding frameworks have focused on the biennials and the internationalization of contemporary art (that can, and should, include readings of regional and local creativity against these broader horizons). Many other art writers have been content to serve as mouthpieces of the spectacularization promoted by the auction house-led art market. Unfortunately, this kind of writing prevails today in most art publications. Fortunately, it is being assailed on all sides: by a growing awareness of the historical resonances within contemporary art and by a dispersion of interest in art and visual creativity that spreads across social media. While criticality drives the first of these, it is a rare, occasional spark in the second. Here is an interesting challenge for curators: to think past the invitation to assist in the uncritical immediation of consumerized subjects that capital now offers (the much-celebrated interactivity that Slavoj Žižek correctly caricatures as “interpassivity”) and to curate experiences in which subjects exercise the kinds of creativity required by their contemporaneity.

      In this context, the exhibition is a selective offering of art to an audience, to art’s future, and to the world to come. The curator is a crucial handmaiden not necessarily to the creation of an artwork (although that is becoming more often the case) but certainly to its becoming public beyond a narrow circle, to its entering the art world, its reaching (in recent times) the expanding audiences for art, and thus its circulation to the world at large. In this comparison, curators are likely to be more tentative, more provisional about their ideas of what is meaningful about the work than art historians and, to a lesser, but still appreciable degree, more circumspect about specifying the significance of art than art critics. They will certainly have a strong sense that the work is meaningful, albeit in ways yet to be fully defined. Storr puts it this way:

      Critics and historians, in comparison, seek stronger, more definite statements about the nature and the significance of the art they encounter and study. Curators do everything necessary to bring works up to the point where they may become subject to critical and historical judgment. They exercise a very similar repertoire of skills and competencies and are moved by a closely similar set of passions and commitments, but curators, on this reading, are appraisers, not judges. Nor are they mainly chroniclers, as art historians must be (even of the present and especially of the immediate past). Curators certainly may leap to attempt both judgment and claims of significance, but will do so with a conscious sense of how provisional their proposals must be.

      What is being emphasized from these perspectives is curating as a profession, one that proffers art and offers fresh work or a fresh presentation of known work. To whom? To what? Making the work available to appreciation, understanding, interpretation, and impact. A corollary is holding back from articulating any of these things at the time of presentation and being reticent about doing so in the place of presentation. Interpretation remains in the wings, as a second order of knowledge awaiting the viewer who is imagined standing in front of the work in the context of an exhibition staged by the curator or as a participant in the work enabled by the curator, if that is its form. Within the space of the exhibition itself, the curator’s interpretation remains unstated, implicit. In its explicit form, it usually becomes available to the viewer later—in the catalogue, for example—as a supplement to the understanding that he or she already arrived at while taking in the exhibition.

      What is the role of wall texts within this model of curating? Modernist conceptions of the autonomy of the art object, expressionist theories of instinctive, unmediated empathy, and the more general reluctance among curators to, as it was often put, “interpose themselves between the artwork and the viewer’s direct experience of it” led to decades during which exhibitions received no more than the most minimal title (and then a purely descriptive one) and nothing more was to be found inside a gallery than wall labels with the name of the artist, title of the work, its date of making, and perhaps its medium, always in plain, nine point type. With the recent boom in audiences (the majority of which are unfamiliar with art) and the increasing display of art that is unfamiliar even to knowledgeable visitors, the provision of information within exhibitions has become essential. Even when the work of the exhibited artist or group of artists is well known, most exhibitions open with a general statement as to the main content and relevance of this exhibit. If, as we have already established, the curator is a creative producer of exhibitions, it is a deception to pretend to be absent.

      Therefore, this raises a question about the second-person voice used in nearly all introductory texts, an issue that can only be resolved in the circumstances specific to each exhibition. In general, the challenge is to calibrate the information precisely to that needed for each stage of the experience: thus the general introductory text, the room text or those related to a cluster of works, the wall labels beside individual works, and, sometimes, a take-out reflection. Many of these tasks are now migrating to rentable audio devices, where they are supplemented by the voice of the curator (or often the director, but sometimes, regrettably, the collector). They are also appearing, via apps, on the mobile devices that increasing numbers of visitors bring to galleries, which deeply mediate viewers’ reactions to the work on display. Making exhibitions will more and more become an activity conducted at least in part online. Viewers will expect a variety of voices in the exhibition, as they do in most contexts outside of it: there will be fewer divisions––territories, hierarchies––within the consumption of culture. This will diversify the curator’s role and spread laterally his or her voice.

      The same will be true for art critics and art historians. So far, I have been writing as if there were basic, core, ongoing tasks for all art world players and that these tasks, however intimately interdependent, are also to an important degree distinctive in each case. I have concentrated on curators, critics, and historians, but similar comments could be made about the roles of artists, gallerists, agents, collectors, auctioneers, museum directors, arts administrators, and so on. Our challenge is to identify what is ongoing and what is contemporary about each of these tasks—that is, what remains and what has changed during the shift from modern to contemporary art. Given the drift of exhibitionary venues toward more and more experimental, open, virtual, and temporary forms, and the constant, even accelerating switching of roles between players from every node, we know that these efforts to identify


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