Curation

This is going to be a personal entry. When I first started this blog, a lot of the first entries were rather personal, a circumstance that I can attribute to the fact I was in a particularly unforgiving professional situation, where I desperately needed to emote to feel human. That ordeal is over and I rather think I’ve evolved as a writer, finding my voice in the one discipline that has—and I believe will—save us all: art. The thought of writing about myself seems terribly dull if not presumptuous, but as the world is going through a rather cataclysmic upheaval, I feel the need to share a little of myself. If not to an actual reader, then to the aether that is the worldwide web. Bear with.
I was recently privy to a tour of a new exhibition with said exhibition’s curator. It was marvelous at the same time as it was frustrating. The exhibition is about an amazing movement that occurred during a time not unlike our own, where canvases were painted on to directly critique the socio-economic depravity in play. It was a glorious movement where the soft soled feet of society were put the fire. That what ensued was one of the most evil periods in human history is very well noted, yet we mustn’t forget that the artistic movements founded right before, have stood the test of time, influencing not just art but the way we live today.
As I listened to the curator, I wondered how he approached his task. Did he have a goal? Was there a message he wanted to convey? A narrative he wished to spin to bring to light some unknown truth about this little known German art movement? And with so much social commentary in every piece with relatively little work to display, how did he pick and choose the pieces to use? I listened as I imagined how I would curate a show, especially one with a subversive political message. I found myself fantasizing about artists I’d collaborate with in creating a show, and how we as a collective—under my direction and vision—would curate an artistic movement.
I daydreamed on my bus ride home, when it suddenly struck me: ‘what about you, Maryam? If your life is a movement, how would you curate it?’ Times are tough and hope in short supply. To keep my flame burning I have shifted to the realm of creation. Rather than spend my time being upset (which I am), or being sad (which I definitely am), I’m trying to do things that will be part of the forthcoming global reconstruction. What little thing can I start now that will snowball into something bigger? So I write and I collage. I’m too tired to be envious of the people and the homes I see in Architectural Digest and Elle Décor, instead I mimic these homeowner’s ability to create spaces that reflect who they are. We can only start from ourselves and for two months I’ve trolled through many of these said magazines, cutting out living rooms, kitchens, gardens, etc… that I view as inspiration for my own safe place. I’ve also clipped Vogue’s where in the nearly infinite advertisements, I’ve found images to ignite the dormant parts of myself. For instance, my personal favourite—a picture of a model in the woods in a beautifully tailored black suit with a skull mask covering her face. I love anonymity and this image is central to who I am: look killer in your environment but let no one know it’s you. I’ve then found individual words and created phrases to encourage and keep me going when things get rough. And in true artistic fashion, I’ve found that I’ve stirred my creative juices in a way I’ve never done before. All thanks to the simple act of curation.
The business of art is a minefield for the person with integrity. Too often you’re forced to choose between what’s honest and what gets the green. Being a businessperson at my core I struggle with this all the time and to balance that eternal fight, I try to be near those that are true artists and to champion them in ways they are simply unable to--that’s really what my life’s work will be. And it’s why I respect Hans Ulrich Obrist. Such an unconventional figure in a whirling pit of sharp-edged conformists, his approach to almost all he does is that it’s for people. He may not be a ‘formal’ artist, but his oeuvre of curation is in and of itself a masterpiece. Neue Sachlichkeit arose during a time when people were trying to forget, and in forgetting themselves they lost their nation. History has an awful habit of repeating itself because we’re the one animal who can’t ‘get it,’ yet we have been gifted with ability to create. We need to remember that because now more than ever it behooves us to do so.

Collage image: Indieground