Where is the Care?

Coming from a family that is constantly moving between cities, countries, and continents, art was my main constant. It was my outlet to zone out, giving me a sense of peace and comfort. Several moves into my teenage years, I found myself transferring from Switzerland to so-called Canada to continue my undergrad in International Business. By 2011 I had crashed, changed majors and leaned into art to make sense of it all. Witnessing the incredible art coming out of the SWANA region that year helped me stay connected to my homeland, while my own art practice helped me navigate my day to day. At 21, I had the opportunity to work at an artist-run gallery in Ottawa. The space was a haven for artists in the area, from musicians to theatre performers, to poets and visual artists; everyone came together with their passion to create. At a time when my personal world was falling apart, I found refuge and healing in a beautiful, supportive and caring arts environment.

My curatorial methodology stems from this space of love for the arts, storytelling, and care for everything and everyone involved in the process. I took that core passion with me everywhere I went, from various profit and not-for-profit arts institutions within Ottawa, to a film festival in Tkaronto/Toronto, to crossing the ocean for a gallery in the Kingdom of Bahrain, to the arts in London, U.K, and back to the country where I relocated to Treaty 8 in Northwest Alberta during the pandemic. These movements and international settings were familiar to me; they made sense to me. Having grown up an expat child in the Arabian Gulf and later becoming an immigrant in Canada, it was natural for me to be a guest. I took this lived experience everywhere with me and aimed to engage with environments where everyone was cared for, and provided the space to create together.

For the past decade I worked between continents, specializing as an international curator on contemporary art. I focused on creating experiences through exhibitions that shed a light on important topics, providing spaces for absent voices while working with emerging and established artists. These spaces influenced my thinking, my being, my methodologies, and my practices. Reflecting on my experience during the pandemic was interesting, specifically at a time where diversity and inclusion were heightened in ways I had not experienced before. I was being introduced by people who did not know me in terms that fit their needs, a white-passing person of colour. Working in such a heightened environment, I had to find ways to present myself while still protecting myself. Being in a leadership position, I learned to compartmentalize and focus my attention on the impact and change I believed I was creating. I utilized my role as curator to carve spaces for others, while neglecting myself in the process and allowing unfortunate triggers and acts of manipulation to occur.

Hearing similar experiences across the country got me thinking, what happens when there are so many of us left struggling by ourselves? More often than not, one person tends to carry the greatest burden due to bureaucratic and uncaring environments with people in power who are uninterested in fixing systemic issues, taking accountability, finding solutions, or providing the care and support needed. What’s left when an individual is undervalued, underpaid, unsupported and unappreciated? When there is high turnover in talent, what happens to the arts, and how can we fix this damaging colonial structure?

Thinking through these questions, I turned to Rachelle Dickenson’s “Engaged Decolonial Practice” (EDP) from the essay ‘Care Full Discomfort: Engaged Decolonial Practice, People and Admin’ for guidance and hope towards a brighter future. Dickenson explains that this work is “informed by critical settler scholarship and Indigenous methodologies and explains how the specificity of EDP can move responsive decolonial practice within institutions.”¹ I’ve been applying certain aspects of decolonial methodologies in my own work such as storytelling, activating spaces, projects that stem from conversations, dreaming big, relationship building through support and collaboration based on trust and respect. But, beyond my individual practice, the lessons I take forward from these experiences lead me to think about how EDP could transform administrative practices in cultural institutions.

Decolonial Curatorial Approach

Dissecting the structural differences between institutions I worked in and considering these in relation to the shift that has been taking place in the last decade in Canada got me thinking about my experience within the arts on various continents. Through Dickenson’s “Engaged Decolonial Practice” and Linda Tuhiwai Smith’s book Decolonizing Methodologies, I found the language to understand my role as a curator. Dickenson explains that:

Many Indigenous curatorial methodologies draw not only from art history but also from storytelling and community-specific protocols that give context for Indigenous sovereignty, ethics, legal, political, and ecological contexts. Indigenous methodologies gather, respond to and carry forward unique concepts and practices of Indigeneity as affirmations, resurgences and resistances, often in the form of literature and artworks. Curatorial methodologies reflect how these practices are located within and well beyond art history and are deployed differently in settler colonial spaces like art galleries.²

Understanding these methodologies can provide context into ways to decolonize traditional curatorial processes, such as research, working with artists, grant writing, programming, outreach, and installation.

For me, the most valuable part of the process stems from relationships built around creative concept development with artists. For instance, the first thing I do when I start a project with an artist is make the time for having conversations about their work, their goals, and what we can create together. During this development process, we discuss their background, their interests and dreams, and I share my own. I recently had an opportunity to work with an artist who only spoke my native language, an exciting moment for both of us as we were able to understand each other on a different level. I got a chance to visit them at their home. We shared food from our homeland, sat on the floor, and viewed all their artwork while they told me stories about every single piece, where it was created, why it was created, and what was happening at that moment of time that led to its creation. Sitting on the floor, listening to their stories and sharing our histories and knowledges was incredible. As a Syrian curator, to be able to offer a space to speak a language without translation or mistranslation, to visualize an exhibition for their works and stories to be brought to life, and to honor the artist and share a glimpse of what they shared with me was extremely special for me. These early moments of creative exchange, concept development and relationship building with artists are vital; they require awareness, sensitivity and a shared passion and care for the projects we are about to embark on.

A year earlier, I worked with an artist who lived across the country. After endless conversations over Zoom about the exhibition we were working on together, I was finally able to travel and visit his home. We shared a meal as I listened to his deep knowledge and research on a specific regional history, the communities involved and the importance of its message. We spent hours considering each section of the exhibition, selecting artwork, and thinking about every detail, from gallery flow and design, to community engagement, to framing and logistics.

Listening is one of the most important elements to a conversational curatorial approach. The act of listening creates understanding, trust, and respect between artists, curators, and collaborators and is essential to my work. Dickenson discusses a holistic approach to curatorial work including regionally specific histories and local stories, considering family, community, and ancestral relationships and how they are involved in the process. It is crucial for decolonial work to think of ways to facilitate concept development such as speaking native languages, and offering the support, resources, time, and space to process and create together.

I follow the same method with group exhibitions, where the perspectives, knowledges, histories, and experiences of all artists involved create another magical experience. Those early stages with artists where brainstorming takes place, themes are discussed, ideas are shared, and creativity becomes an ongoing, living part of the process towards creating an exhibition. I then bring in what evolved from these sessions to my team to work on logistically activating the spaces alongside the artists. This then leads to another creative process within the installation. If I am lucky enough to have the artist or a co-curator(s) installing in the exhibition space with me, something special happens where the dreaming, the visualization, and all the conversations leading to this moment come to life through the intimate experience of being together with the artworks in the physical space. These are moments of exhibition-making that I cherish. It is through the acts of listening, communicating, and sharing that care is centered and involved in every part of the process including work with marketing, programming, and education departments. Conversational and collaborative methods lead to projects where artists’ voices are heard within the creation of the vision and design of the exhibition as well as through the outreach programming and community-building initiatives.

Decolonial curatorial methodology for me considers who is telling the story as a vital part of the cultural production and is essential to ethical practice. By ensuring that artists, curators, and communities are in control of their stories, a curatorial approach of trust, respect, support, and empowerment is necessary. It is essential to the storytelling process and how it invites the public to engage with these spaces.

Thinking Through Administration

This leads me to thinking about all the administrative aspects that are not often discussed in curatorial work. Dickenson argues for a shift in the priorities of administrative processes that are associated with project development towards decolonial goals and institutional responsibility to employees and communities. Examples of how EDP can support identifying systemic issues through administration include data management processes, pay grades, labour expectations and hiring practices. A critique of these administrative structures becomes part of a larger conversation of decolonizing methodologies from within the infrastructure of the institution that directly affects those who are part of its organization and culture. These strategies can become part of the necessary change for a healthier arts environment. As an example, Dickenson approaches arts administration and curatorial practice with a shared ethic that applies the same methodological checks to measure the appropriateness, respect, and reciprocity of the content she produces. These checks came out of the way she saw galleries and universities treat knowledges, histories and the lived experiences of Black and Indigenous people and People of Colour (BIPOC).³

These issues continue to exist in institutions and are often left for marginalized voices to take on or are addressed performatively by people in powerful positions. For example, when a diversity hire is expected to curate and produce exhibitions of “other” communities and is then used to showcase how the organization has engaged in these practices. Administrative practices that contribute to these harmful experiences are often habits that are passed down within an institution. These could include environments of racism and toxicity involving ignorant language, using people for an agenda, or not listening to someone’s concerns, needs or solutions. Policy and protocols are created by people within the institution who continue systemic colonial issues and toxic environments through administrative authority and bureaucracy. Potential ways to challenge this structure could be through changing common  hiring practices such as temporary contracts–which are often based on reactionary or short projects that fit the need or trend–or by challenging performative programming which exploits specific days or months of a community for its own agenda or that of a Director. Intervening into these administrative structures may help support a move to a better future within cultural institutions, hold people accountable, and take responsibility to resist harmful habits. Checklists provided by Dickenson can support leadership in navigating these issues within the work environment.

Engaged Decolonial Practice can be used as a guide for individuals at all levels of an organization to think about how their own personal perspectives and backgrounds may impact their colleagues and communities by having an engaged awareness of their surroundings and their institution’s operations, policies, and procedures. This starts with honest conversations and transparency about how these issues are being prioritized, if they are actively being addressed, and how to get involved in making a difference, challenging the status quo, and working against rigid and colonial administrative structures.

On Privilege

As an Arab Syrian woman, I acknowledge that my ambiguous features have provided me a specific privilege that situates me within both academia and the art world in the way I exist in certain spaces, while also being aware of the triggers and harms that have come my way. Dickenson shares that understanding your positionality, privilege, and agency is an approach that is “humbling and productive, and requires care: thoughtfulness, empathy, ethics, respect, and love.”⁴ My background, heritage, and skin all impact my work and how I approach my curatorial methodology from a place of love and care and my own inheritance that values relationships. Thinking about the various organizations I worked in, including a predominantly white environment, my skin presented outside comfort while my Arabness fit a diversity agenda. By having an awareness and understanding of my position and privileges, I have been able to use my platform to create space for absent voices, to tell stories, to create awareness, and to provide opportunities. I also acknowledge that it placed me in negative situations where I allowed myself to be used within those spaces.

Dickenson’s EDP, however, offered me a guide in approaching and understanding my positionality and how to navigate it in the future. For example, Dickenson has provided questions to guide her through knowing when and how to use this privilege to contribute to anti-racist projects, to think about when to take space and when to create space. When I think about my work and what I will continue to practice in the future, I look at ways where I can keep on advocating for a living wage, creating curatorial opportunities, providing mentorship and guidance, developing succession plans, investing in local talent and long-term staff, acknowledging and finding solutions to burnouts, providing appreciation programs to all levels of an organization, understanding team roles and creating proper job descriptions and expectations, incorporating ethical and sustainable hiring practices, creating better spaces to work through conflicts, locating when there is a need to change and update policies, recognizing when power structures are being abused and taking action against them, offering support and protection to those who were abused, providing specific support to racialized and marginalized people holding any position from leadership roles to entry levels, and, of course, establishing proper communication systems across all departments and especially within boards of directors. Acts of care at an administrative level need to be enacted and need to be within the organization’s values. Simple acts such as learning your colleague’s background, understanding how diversity can be harmful when used in inappropriate and performative ways, and not using a curator’s name without their consent would be a good start. Dickenson explains “EDP is more about reinforcing personal accountability.”⁵ Engaged Decolonial Practice provides the space and guidance for each individual to check in with themselves and identify their positionalities, privileges, and motivations, as well as think about when to take action, when to give space, and prioritize building relationships based on respect with colleagues, artists, and communities.

Reflections

I’ve worked with remarkable people and artists across Turtle Island and abroad, including strong female leaders that inspire me every day. During one of the most challenging times of my career, I had the opportunity to work with an incredible team. What we created together was a beautiful, resilient act. The hope of changing systemic issues from the bottom up was inspiring; the failure to do so was eye-opening. Continuous exhaustion, burnout, and struggle are a problem. Decolonial practices are urgent not as performative actions but as genuine acts of care to create safe spaces for all within the arts. How do we change this ecology and colonial structure? Is it possible for organizations to prioritize bottom-up solutions instead of top-down, and to replace the current system with another ecology, a system that is not extractive but recognizes systemic issues and chooses to be better, requiring leadership to take accountability and responsibility for their actions? By finding spaces that reflect and share the love and care that is required, by asking questions and learning about an organization’s values and cultures and how they treat their people, their artists, and their communities, decolonial practices can begin to replace the harm done. Through self-reflections and thinking about ethics of care, I now know the difference between performative diversity and genuine interest in understanding and working with people within an institution. I am proud and grateful of the relationships I have built and continue to grow with amazing artists and creatives, teams, and colleagues. From that very first artist-run gallery in Ottawa, to the Latin community in Tkaronto/Toronto, to the beautiful mix of cultures in Bahrain, to the artistic community on Treaty 8, cultural respect and relationship building were crucial to my role in these environments. The relationships that I built along the way continue to influence the local and global stories I engage with in my curatorial practice. I found joy in my work and the people I worked with, the communities, and the environments I became a part of. My practice, therefore, stems from my lived experience and from a place of care and love for the art and for everyone involved in the creation of these arts. I will continue to find those who care, work with care, build relationships with care, and practice with care.

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References

Dickenson, Rachelle. “Care Full Discomfort: Engaged Decolonial Practice, People and Admin.” Essay. The Routledge Companion to Indigenous Art Histories in the United States and Canada, edited by Heather Igloliorte and Carla Taunton, pp. 284-295. London: Taylor & Francis Ltd, 2022.

Smith, Linda Tuhiwai. Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples. New York: Zed Books, 1999.

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Manar Abo Touk (she/her) is a Syrian-born Canadian independent art curator and a PhD student in the Department of Art History at Concordia University in Tiohtiá:ke/Montreal focusing on contemporary Syrian art. She holds an MA in Museum and Gallery Studies from Kingston University, London, UK, and a BA with double majors in History and Theory of Art and Arts Administration from the University of Ottawa. Abo Touk has worked at institutions such as the Canadian War Museum and Studio Sixty Six Gallery in Ottawa, and the aluCine Latin Film + Media Arts Festival in Toronto. Most recently she held positions as the Arts Manager and Curator at Al Riwaq Art Space in the Kingdom of Bahrain, and Curator of Exhibitions and Collections at the Art Gallery of Grande Prairie, Alberta.

Instagram: @manar.abotouk

1. Rachelle Dickenson, “Care Full Discomfort: Engaged Decolonial Practice, People and Admin,” The Routledge Companion to Indigenous Art Histories in the United States and Canada, eds. Heather Igloliorte and Carla Taunton (London: Taylor & Francis Ltd, 2022), 284.
2. Dickenson, “Care Full Discomfort,” 287.
3. Dickenson, “Care Full Discomfort,” 289.
4. Dickenson, “Care Full Discomfort,” 284.
5. Dickenson, “Care Full Discomfort,” 292.

This article is published in issue 40.2 of BlackFlash magazine. Get this issue