Tell Your Story
I don’t write from the front. I form these words in the trenches of ‘the work’. ‘The work’ I’m engaged in, is disentangling myself from the problematic, that I might have unwittingly sided with. In some senses that’s working in academia. But it’s also the ongoing work of trying to loosen the grip of the systems of oppression that I benefit from. This preamble is to say, I don’t write because I know, I write to find out. I write to share, to aknowledge. I write to form my thoughts. I write to reach a reader. And I’m grateful whenever and wherever I have a reader.
I write too because there is a lot of reparative work to be done. The known and expected social contracts are over. The old is dying, and the new is yet to be born. So I wonder, what role art and culture in ushering in the new? In the turbulence of funding crises and renewed attention on the oppressive regimes that have formed art and museum collections, I do not envy curators, directors, or cultural leaders at present. There is a lot of work to be done in the sector.
And what role do artists have? On the one hand, there are some limited opportunities for artists to use their practice to lead thought in relation to pressing issues: decolonisation, race oppression, climate crisis, conflict. This is not easy work at all, because it means putting your creative work behind a cause, and this can be draining for an artist: to feel it’s your duty to serve a particular issue necessitates letting go of working playfully and intuitively. On the other hand, artists work outside of frameworks of funding and support. This is where many of us find ourselves, perhaps for the first time in a long time. Going it alone is not for the faint-hearted, it’s draining in a different way.
Going it alone is tough. But let me reframe this position we find ourselves in. If we have a vocation, we’re going to get on with what we do whether we’re supported or not. I’m not saying it’s right or good that our funding has dried up. But it has. And now what? What story are you going to tell?
That’s my question: what story are you going to tell? Your clarity of vision, your capacity to articulate your thoughts, your ideas, and your way of seeing the world, are all necessary. I’m so over quick reads, quick culture, knee-jerk reaction. And I’m even more excited to read how artists negotiate their art practice, their studio time, their work. It’s as though, connecting with the resilience of other artists in itself builds resilience. In seeing how others survive, I survive.
Getting clear about what you do is no cure-all. But it is a way of showing up, building community, and audience. And if you do get the opportunity to apply for funding, being clear of your vision will make that stuff easier.
I’m so curious about how artists see the world—I guess that’s the appeal of teaching—and I do miss that. I find myself wanting to know what my peers are doing. Sometimes I sense a reticence to share, or an obfuscation in others to tell a clear story, unconsciously or not. I have a feeling this is the impact of our painful present context. I’m guilty of it too. I’m really fearful of recording myself speaking to camera on Instagram. I know though, that it is a very immediate way I can tell my new story of what I do and how I work. So, I’m writing it here, I will share myself more, I will record videos.
But also I wanted to write about what I can do here. I’m a storyteller. I’m also a listener. I listen to artists and I catch the gems they speak of their processes and inspirations and I help them get that down into words: statements, bios, proposals. If you want support telling your story, I can help.