The Addison Gallery's Exhibit Harlem: In Situ

Our final field trip was to the Addison Gallery of American Art, with Dr. Herbin-Triant’s history class, to view and discuss Harlem: In Situ. The exhibit’s curator, Stephanie Sparling Williams, generously gave us a tour, explaining the importance of the visual and audial works within the exhibit, and leading the discussion of what we saw and heard. The photographs and paintings reflect a wonderful liveliness of the people living in Harlem, from the 1920s to today. Roy DeCarava’s (1919-2009) Graduation Day (1949) and Hotel (1962) are striking in an otherworldly way. Graduation Day is a stunning image of a young black woman in a light-colored gown (possibly white), walking down a sidewalk near a wide, trash-strewn alley with newspapers piled on the side of the street as if being swept and a car advertisement. For me, this photograph shows the juxtaposition between the stereotype of Harlem and the reality of this neighborhood of which I know so little.

I remember, when I lived in NY, my friends and classmates talked about visiting family in Harlem. The energy with which they discussed their weekend excursions is reflected in the photographs of Marcus Garvey, Langston Hughes, named and unnamed people, smiling faces surrounded by picture frames or sober-expressioned ball game observers. Even in the silver gelatin prints, there’s a vitality and exuberance that is rarely, if ever, shown in the media. In fact, now that I think more upon the ideas presented, the entire exhibit shows the contrast between reality and media portrayals. This exhibit shows creative place-making and meaning-making in not only the art but also the people and lives portrayed within the works.

What I found most enjoyable about Harlem: In Situ is the exposure to a distinct and historic place, which straddles the line between myth and reality. The people that live or lived there, fight for equality (a battle that continues today) while working and playing together in a way those of us that have never even visited Harlem will ever understand however much we may think appreciate it. There are things and places that need to be experienced before we begin to glimpse the bigger picture.

DeCordova New England Biennial 2019

This week, we visited the DeCordova Sculpture Park and Museum in Lincoln, MA. I arrived a few minutes earlier than my classmates and wandered around the back of the sculpture park a little. With Flint’s Pond as a backdrop, the sculptures almost seemed alive with the sunlight glinting off the water, casting reflections on some pieces. Once everyone arrived, we met Koch Curatorial Fellow Sam Adams who kindly gave the class a tour of the New England Biennial 2019. There are a few things I enjoyed about the tour. First, we did not see everything, leaving an excuse to visit again. Second, Sam’s knowledge of the artists, art, and information about the intentions of viewed works placed these pieces in context. Finally, learning about some of the artists’ processes and lives opened the realm of possibilities for my own creative outlets.

Work like Borthwick’s Nero’s Analogue (2018) caught my attention in the presentation of ancient designs recreated in modern times. Anoka Faruqee and David Driscoll’s 2019P-15 (Circle) (2019) and two additional (Circle) works were interesting not only in the creation process of these optical illusionary works but also in color usage. Now, I do not know if the artists intended an optical illusion or were going for dimensionality, however, they achieved both.

Given my recent political bend, my favorite works exhibited are Soleimani’s Director of Central Intelligence Agency, United States & Iraq (2017), Minister of Petroleum, Venezuela (2017), Minister of Defense, Saudi Arabia (2017), and Minister of Mineral Resources and Petroleum, Angola & Former Secretary of State, United States (2017) jumped out to me. With a different approach, Soleimani confronts the viewer with the ugly truths of politics and oil intertwining with power and greed.

Each work calls to mind different ways of experiencing the art when considered in the greater context of biennial exhibitions. While DeCordova’s regional biennial is not technically international, the artists names and educations do stretch beyond the stereotypical New England names and universities. Adams informed the class that Borthwick studied art and architecture in Italy while Soleimani is the daughter of Iranian political refugees. As only two examples of the artist background in DeCordova’s biennial, these experiences inform the artists in creating their works. In that sense, this exhibition is international while the artists are New England residents.

This class trip was my first visit to the DeCordova and will not be the last.

Conceptual Foundations of Interpretive Planning

The second chapter of Interpretive Planning for Museums: Integrating Visitor Perspectives in Decision Making (Wells, Butler, & Koke, 2013) reads as an academic approach to the intersection of The Participatory Museum (2010) and The Art of Relevance (2016), two Simon texts I recently read. I like the way Wells, Butler, and Koke integrate ideas of facts, educational needs, understanding visitors, and the ways in which visitors make meaning from presented information. Learning by rote is not, usually, conducive to meaningful understanding of concrete information or abstract concepts. Instead, relevance encourages facts to take root along with learned ideas, sprouting new connections, and branching into relationships with a wider variety of subject matter. Museums offer long-term educational value and are neglected as educational community assets (Wells, Butler, & Koke, 2013, p. 26). Well-executed interpretive planning provides a path for visitors to make connections to their own experiences and offers museums continued growth and strengthened community bonds.

Unfortunately, due to personal issues, I was unable to attend the guest lecture SHIFTING CULTURE: Public Pedagogy in Visitor-Centric Exhibition Design by Susan Diachisin, the Tsongas Industrial History Center’s Museum Education Supervisor. Given Diachisin’s 25+ years of experience, I am certain I missed a lot of insightful and helpful information.

On the Issue of Confederate Monuments

Considering Confederate statues and the questions surrounding their removal, my thoughts return to a few thoughts. First, these monuments commemorate slavery by literally and figuratively placing the Confederacy on pedestals. Second, the majority of these monuments were placed during the Jim Crow era, not in the years following the end of the Civil War. Third, while I do not advocate for the destruction of art works, even when I disagree with the meanings behind them, I do not believe these statues belong in public spaces. To clarify, land owned by municipalities are public spaces and the sites of many of these statues are on city or town property, not private land. Fourth, although I disagree with monuments to racism and slavery, I do not condone vandalism of such. Yes, I do believe these works should be removed to other locations where they can be contextualized, like a graveyard or museum. A graveyard seems appropriate because the Confederacy died in the 19^th century. A museum can place the monuments in a historical context and use them as educational tools on the reality of the Civil War, the Confederacy, and the horrific institution of slavery, as well as the racist ideologies that persist. Finally, a number of these memorials to racism, slavery, and the Confederacy were not commissioned by public authorities but rather by private citizen groups to whom those antiquated ideas are still relevant to their social beliefs.

We live in a nation comprised of various races, religions, and ethnicities with a history of oppressing people of color, Native Tribal Nations, women, LGBTQ, and too many other minority groups. How can the US be the “land of the free” when such suppression continues? How can we claim any level of moral authority when racism runs rampant in multiple levels of government and law enforcement? We aren’t and we can’t. As long as these monuments to slavery and racism stand, we will not achieve the great American dream of a prosperous and peaceful nation. We, as a nation, need to honestly face the past, have that painful day of reckoning, and change our ways, before moving forward. If we do not, we are lost to the dusty shelves, where the Confederacy and monuments to racism belong.

Public Art of the 1980s

In Leah Triplett Harrington’s articles, “Seachange: Public Art in the 1980s” (2018) and “In Review: Terrain Biennial” (2017) the art historian looks at site-specific works and the ways in which the art interacts with the space and the public. The surge of public art in the 1980s was part of revitalization efforts in some areas and a way of preserving a sense of place. While Harrington focuses on Boston, MA, my thoughts turn to my home city, Lowell, MA, and how art is still vital in the revitalization of the Mill City.  After the founding of the Lowell National Historical Park, public art became ways to anchor not only the park but also the city in honoring the past while making improvements for the future. I suppose this idea applies to many permanent public art installations, although there are some works hold no historical or cultural references.

Some public works of art blend into the background, noticeable only when a viewer takes the time to pay attention to the environment in which they work or live. Harrington points to a few of these works, such as Buster Simpson’s Situations (1981) and Kate Burke and Greg Lefevre’s Boston Bricks (1985), and asks if we noticed. Having visited Boston multiple times since 1981, I am unable to say I noticed Situations against a wall at the Downtown Crossing T-stop, although I recall chuckling at Burke and Lefevre’s “You Are Here” brick that almost blends in to the brick-paved sidewalk. That noticeability, or lack thereof, seems important although I am unsure how.

Again, I think about the works in Lowell and wonder how many people never noticed newer works like Stele for the Merrimack (1996) by Peter Gourfain even though the work is located near a major intersection? Then I realize the work is tucked away, almost hidden by a local credit union’s office building. Does the canal-side location provide more context for the work or is that context lost due to the out-of-the-way site? These questions relate more to my reading of “In Review: Terrain Biennial” than to “Seachange: Public Art in the 1980s.” In the review, Harrington discusses questions of barriers and the invisible lines between public and private exhibition spaces. The location of Stele for the Merrimack can be confused for private property, not a public space, if a tourist approaches from the downtown area, reducing the visibility by way of an invisible (and non-existent) parameter. In contrast, the works of Terrain Biennial were located on private citizens’ lawns yet accessible to the public.

During a UML special guest lecture given by Harrington, she also spoke about regionalism and regional arts scenes, which reminded me of our visit and discussion with Maxine Farkas. In Lowell, we have artists that produce works including the defunct mills as focal points or backgrounds. The red brick buildings towering, looming, or implied depending on composition, simultaneously present and not. In many ways, embedded in those visualizations are the stories of this city, through the past lives of the mills, present uses, and future dreams. I think the same holds true for public art of the 1980s.

Art, Gentrification, and Community Balance

This week’s readings and class visit to Western Avenue Studios prompted thoughts about the ways in which the arts can revitalize a community through or without gentrification. I understand three different views between the two articles and the artist. Deutsche and Ryan repeatedly refer to artists as middle-class, implying a snobbish attitude. In contrast, Richard Florida (2002) discusses the attraction of municipalities with diverse arts and cultural areas. Yet, it is possible for artists and galleries to do-exist within a historically low-income neighborhood, like the Lowell, MA, Acre, as our discussion with artist Maxine Farkas indicates. Farkas points out the affordability of the artist studios and live-work spaces as a driving force behind the success of Western Avenue Studios, a key in the revitalization of Lowell.

For example, Rosalyn Deutsche and Cara Gendel Ryan’s (1984) article regarding Manhattan’s Lower East Side rails against gentrification and seems to blame artists, galleries, and museums for improving an impoverished area to the degree that poor or lower income people are pushed out. Deutsche and Ryan review the changes of the Lower East Side between 1981 and 1983, focusing on gentrification and blaming art. Although a growth from two to 25 galleries over 2 years is incredible, the introduction and success of artists in a lower financial status neighborhood does not always mean the poor and working class residents will be forced out. Deutsche and Ryan state, “The immediate aim [of the city] is to dislodge a largely redundant working-class community” without considering the challenges artists and galleries face. In addition, the article authors quote a Lower East Side vicar who talks about gentrification in a more general sense, not specifically as the result of art galleries moving in to a neighborhood. One point repeated throughout this article is the plight of people displaced by a city’s revitalization effort. There is no mention of the landlords that do not maintain their properties or the local employment situation in the early 1980s, although there are a few mentions of Pres. Reagan’s economic policies (or Reaganomics) and the impact on already struggling people.

Loosely citing statistics about the change from a blue-collar to a white-collar economy in New York City (NYC) between 1977 and 1984, technological advances are ignored and policies are held up as a driving factor. In contrast, Florida (2002) views societal changes and the migration of potential employees as a signal a city is not doing enough to keep young talent in the local economy to aid in future success of the city. Opening the article with an observation and conversation with a college student about to move from Pittsburgh, PA, to Austin, TX, Florida describes the creative class and what attracts these workers to specific areas. The main factor seems to be diversity in many, if not all, of its forms from lifestyles to cultures and individuality. Looking at large, medium, and small cities with populations from 250,000 to over 1 million, Florida highlights a creativity index based on information from the 2000 US Census with percentages of creative workers and diversity, as well as high-tech and innovation ranks. A glaring omission, in comparison with Deutsche and Ryan’s article, is the mention of poor or lower working-class people and homelessness. At the same time, Florida’s focus is figuring out how and why municipalities gain or keep creative class members and how approaches may or may not hamper such efforts.

The idea that a city can thrive, even grow, without the looming presence of big-box retailers and with diverse cultures, arts, locally-owned businesses, and creative outlets is not simply an ideal to be reached; rather, it is a possibility, even on a smaller scale in a city with around 110,000 residents. Balancing the needs of diverse communities and neighborhoods within a city is not easy, especially when multiple cultures from various ethnicities, races, financial statuses, and walks of life live in close proximity. Lowell is attempting to find this balance. That’s not to say gentrification does not occur whatsoever; however, I do not believe artists are to blame for municipalities looking to increase revenue or off-load city-owned buildings that strain local budgets. In fact, I believe when revitalization through arts and culture is done responsibly, jobs are created, more revenue comes in to the city, and a thriving and diverse community benefits.

During our discussion, Farkas said it is difficult for artists to make a living off their work, a statement that counters Deutsche and Ryan’s narrative that artists and galleries are bourgeoisie. The owner of the Western Avenue Studios appears to have found that delicate balance between encouraging the arts, contributing to a city’s revitalization, and not gentrifying a neighborhood. Situated near the border of a poor to working-class residential neighborhood, and in an industrial zone with special zoning variances for the artists’ live-work spaces, Western Avenue Studios does not seem to impose or impede upon the surrounding area. Instead, the formerly all but abandoned mill buildings are part of a thriving community in a city that has come back from the brink a few times over the last century, most recently in the late 1970s- early 80s and, again, in the late 1990s and early 2000s. Both revitalization efforts were sparked to life in conjunction with the arts. The differences between these comebacks are there are more galleries now than in the 1980s and 90s, a renewed sense of community, and the city benefits from revenues generated through art and cultural celebrations. Granted, Western Avenue Studios is unique in the co-existence within, and positive contributions to, a larger community. However, while the city has a lot of affordable housing options for poor, elderly, and lower financial status people (although there are never truly enough openings), there is an overfull homeless shelter and many people living on the streets. It is rare for any city not to have a homeless population.

Furthermore, the success of Western Avenue Studios may be viewed as a model for revitalizing depressed areas, embracing the arts, giving artists a community within a community, increasing a municipality’s attractiveness and creativity rankings, and give rise to a new generation of creators in multiple job sectors. Although I feel like I say this while wearing rose-colored glasses, I see it happening in my city. I see the small businesses of our downtown area, many of which have a connection to the arts from the local art displayed and sold at Brew’d Awakening and UnchARTed to the planned gallery space at the Lowell Housing Authority office across the street from public housing.

In another blog post, I mentioned the fight within the city over the high school location and how moving the school would encourage gentrification in a city built by and comprised of immigrants and their descendants. Gentrification has occurred here before, in the 70s, 80s, and 90s, when neighborhoods were leveled and the immigrant residents had to find someplace else to live. In one area, once called Little Canada for the French Canadian immigrants that lived there, there is a minor league baseball stadium and nothing to mark where tenements once stood. Around the time those buildings were destroyed, the city began celebrating the cultures and ethnicities of the populace. At first, there was the Lowell Plan’s 1981 arts and crafts festival; now, we have several ethnic and cultural celebrations throughout the year from the Southeast Asian Water Festival to the Lowell Folk Festival and the Africa Cup. That is not to say this city is perfect; it is to say, it is a works in progress and by embracing the diversity of the people, all of our lives can improve.

Creative Placemaking and Relational Art

When discussing creative placemaking, think about marginalization, gentrification, making people invisible because they represent something the white population doesn’t want to see or acknowledge, or restricting the movements and futures of people because they aren’t white, are poor, and live on the edges of larger communities while living within their own communities. The ways in which Rasquachification (Bedoya, 2014), Waiting for Godot in New Orleans (Chan, 2007), Redlining (City Life/ Vita Urbana, 2015), A Subtlety (Walker, 2014), Project Row House (Lowe and Theaster Gates Foundation, 1993), Shamiyaana–Food for Thought: Thought for Change (Araeen, 2016-17) address these on-going issues are both subtle and obvious. Creative placemaking, placekeeping, and deeply historic referencing within the above mentioned works reflect distinct voices from within marginalized communities. Voices of Black, Latinx and Chicano, poor, and even sanitation workers chime together, ringing like church bells calling attention to time.

In each of these cases, it is long past time to pay attention to the reality faced by these communities. As explained by Bedoya, Rasquachification is an example of creative placekeeping as some Chicanos paint and decorate their homes in representations of their vibrant communities, heritage, and culture. Bedoya (2014) discusses “the white spatial imaginary” as a way in which the white majority utilize stereotypes and white fragility to develop gentrification policies disguised as ways to improve areas. These ideas relate to Bedoya’s (2012) article, “Placemaking and the Politics of Belonging and Dis-belonging,” in that gentrification uproots families and communities, scattering them to more marginalized or downtrodden areas in the name of progress. Ignoring the histories, racial implications, financial statuses, and relationships of people within these already marginalized communities only compounds the problems. When this uprooting occurs, people move from a place of belonging to one where they are new and may not feel as though they belong. As Bedoya discusses, placemaking or placekeeping is enacting identity, creating personal and communal histories, and strengthening relationships within communities. The voices of those impacted by gentrification need to be heard.  

Recently, in Lowell, MA, there was a citywide fight about the public high school (LHS) and how to address the buildings’ issues. One side wanted to relocate to the outskirts of the city while the other side insisted the school stay downtown. The new location (Cawley) side focused on a brand new structure without consideration of the majority of students, who are minorities and live near the school’s current location. Cawley folks claimed new businesses and luxury condos could be built, rented or sold, and bring new funding sources to the city’s tight budget. At the same time, the opposers (Downtown) focused on the costs, traffic and transportation issues, air and noise pollution, and the destruction of a small patch of woods. Downtown people claimed the additional expenses of eminent domain on residents’ homes and several small businesses, widening streets, adding sidewalks, and new traffic lights were not considered in the total cost.

Ultimately, the high school is staying downtown, though the reasoning is attributed to the ballots cast in city elections. The voices barely heard above the yelling were the ones that represented the people living near the current LHS location who spoke against gentrification, which has occurred in the city multiple times over the years, and the resource impacts for students from low-income families. Why their voices were not given more attention matters. Undiscussed issues of gentrification and marginalization got backburnered, yet again. The white people dominated the conversation with white spatial imaginary (Bedoya, 2014), ignoring the marginalized communities that had more at stake, more to lose, than anyone else, much like New Orleans’ Lower Ninth and Gentilly residents who were left stranded after a hurricane decimated their homes.

Chan’s 2007 outdoor production of Beckett’s Waiting for Godot (1953) in two Hurricane Katrina-damaged neighborhoods in New Orleans reflects the ways these people were still waiting for the needed assistance to rebuild. Some of the ravaged areas are still waiting, as is Puerto Rico since Hurricane Irma struck in 2017. Similarly, the Project Row Houses (DPA interview with Lowe, 1996-98; Theaster Gates Foundation, 1993) rejuvenates a downtrodden neighborhood. Breathing new life into dilapidated buildings often associated with poor black families, Project Row Houses brought multiple communities together through socially transformational art. By renovating the abandoned shotgun buildings as office, art, and community spaces, this project honored the history of the building style, the people that are most often closely associated with row houses, and relied on community contributions of funding and physical labor to change the neighborhood’s narrative.

Barriers to necessary aid and improved living conditions are not always visible. For example, the 1936 Federal Housing Authority’s (FHA) redlining maps prevented generations from becoming homeowners because of where they lived when applying for loans. In Redlining (2015), CLVU draws a visible red line around the Jamaica Plain (JP) neighborhood near Boston. People living within the redlined district were denied mortgages, denied a chance of a better future so long as they lived within those red lines. This line, marked on maps, was given to potential mortgage lenders and used as tools of federally-sanctioned racism.

Walker’s A Subtlety (2014) also speaks directly to government-endorsed racism in the forms of slavery and sugar. Too many people are unaware of the black lives lost to the growth and refining of sugar. Installed in a Domino Sugar factory, Walker’s sphinx sculpture with the “mammy” head highlights many of the atrocities blacks, more specifically black women, endured during a shameful portion of American history and the resulting stereotypes that persist. The mammy head speaks to the enslaved women that had to nurse and care for the white slave-owners’’ children, often at the expense of her own— if she was allowed to keep them. Surrounding the sculpture, smaller figures of children made of and holding sugar products combine with the sphinx’s large round breasts and protruding genitalia to represent the rapes (both literal and figurative), genital mutilation, and resulting generations of children born of slave women. At the same time, the location refers to gentrification and oppression of not only black people but also the lower working class that powered the Domino factory, except for a 20-month strike. Refined sugar is present in many households and most restaurants, as are the histories of the enslaved people that provided the food ingredient and pantry staple for centuries.

In a different approach, Araeen’s (2016-17) installation Shamiyaana–Food for Thought: Thought for Change created an interactive space in which viewers became visitors under colorful canopies inspired by Pakistani wedding tents. In these Shamiyaana, discussions of positive social change over freshly cooked Mediterranean food were encouraged. When people have these necessary discussions and consider the dynamics of public spaces, as well as the social problems in the surrounding areas, and the history of the space itself in a hospitable context, more solutions can naturally unfold. By allowing the discussions to unfold instead of being forced upon one group by another, more equitable solutions can be found. While the discussions of marginalization, racism, xenophobia, and misogyny dominate the reality, not enough is said in public to alter the course. We, as an increasingly global community, need to have these conversations and listen to other views, especially those of the people directly impacted by social injustices.