(Fun)draising | Samantha Summers
In November I was able to catch world-renowned curator Candice Hopkins on a panel entitled Power and Possession: The Ethics of Collecting at the Gardiner Museum. She mentioned the ethics of donated and fundraised money, and I was intrigued. We sat down in January at the Toronto Biennial headquarters at the Museum of Contemporary Art, where Candice will be stationed for the next two years, to discuss fundraising ethics and more.
When I saw you speak you mentioned the ethics of using fundraised, donated money. What did you mean by that?
I think a big question is where that money comes from and who it impacts. Oftentimes funders - particularly in Canada - will fund or be aligned with exhibitions as a PR campaign. One of the best examples I know was an exhibition which took place in 1988 called The Spirit Sings: Artistic Traditions of Canada’s First Peoples which was sponsored by Shell Oil Canada, who were actively drilling on the lands of the Lubicon Lake Cree and many other Indigenous peoples. It was among the first exhibitions to be publicly protested in Canada. Protesters were taking issue with two main things. One, Shell Oil was actively drilling on Native land, Native land in northern Alberta that was left out of the treaty-signing process. Two, the exhibition itself had not involved any work or contribution by living Native people. The only Native people that they were collaborating with were in public programs, and this felt like it was after the fact. Out of this the Task Force on Museums and First Peoples was formed, which I really recommend people look at as an important resource.
And there was a counter-exhibit that was later developed.
It was called ReVisions, and it was at the Walter Phillips Gallery in Banff. One of the best things about ReVisions, which is documented in the catalogue, is an essay by Jean Fisher called “The Health of the People is the Highest Law.” Often people who live in very remote regions have fairly little voice, but the Lubicon [Lake Nation] used the language of existing media in protesting and starting that campaign against The Spirit Sings. They understood one of the ways of raising awareness was to contact all the formerly agreed-upon lenders to the exhibition, including the Smithsonian and the British Museum. They sent them letters asking them to withdraw their loans, and I believe the Smithsonian did, among others. That campaign was a very strategic way of understanding how exhibitions are put together and where the sources of influence are, which includes other museums.
From my perspective it doesn’t look like accountability for historic and present violence is happening as quickly in museums as it should. How have you observed accountability measures happening?
I think it happens in ways that aren’t as visible. One of the things that we did at the Biennial was to hire Ange Loft, a local Mohawk artist, musician and theatre director. We commissioned her to write the Indigenous Context Brief. One of the great things about the research that she’s been able to do is it gives people a different perspective of this place. When you’re asking artists to come in and work in a place in a way that’s site-responsive, you need to give them very specific kinds of tools. I think some of the biggest changes within institutions at the moment are structural. It’s important to consider questions such as, what is your board makeup? What voices are represented and not? What is your staff make up? How is this reflected in your programming? I think we’re in a position in Canada where we tend to think of society in a very binaristic way. We often think of society in terms of Indigenous people and settlers, and the voices that are left out are immigrant voices, also people who came here not by their own will - Canada also has a history of slavery. I feel like these kinds of histories and relations are important to talk about. [We need to be] thinking about how these conversations and collaborations have emerged, and also conflict, over the history of our country.
When working with the donors is there any push-back in trying to pitch this new way of looking at things?
What I find compelling is how quickly things have started to shift. Recently a potential funder [for the Toronto Biennial] wanted more information about how Indigenous artists will be represented, and also staff, advisors, board, and I thought, “Wow, we’ve come a long way if funders are actually asking for this.” When I first started working in this field, it almost felt like it was a checkbox, with regards to Indigenous participation. I think Canada is in the midst of a historical reckoning where the question of historical reconciliation is being taken seriously, and people are thinking about what their responsibility is in regards to that. On the other hand, I think that what happens when you’re working with funders is that they want to have an impact, so in the context of an exhibition they often want to associate their names with what they feel might be the biggest event. Oftentimes, when you’re working with or as a part of Indigenous projects there’s a real emphasis on process. So how do you create support for that process that might not be visible or it might take a very long time? To invest in people instead of the big, splashy thing at the end, can be a challenge for some funders and even arts organizations to consider.
Have you ever been in a position where you’ve had to compromise your artistic or curatorial vision in order to do what will most please donors, the public, or the media?
For an exhibition called Documenta 14 when it was opening in Kassel, Germany, we had commissioned a Sámi artist, Joar Nango, to produce a podium for us for the press conference. He really was insistent that this podium was made with materials that he had gathered enroute in his drive from Sápmi in northern Norway, all the way down to Athens, and all the way back to Kassel. He wanted to include a sealskin draped over the podium, and the concern from marketing was that there would be inordinate focus on this element of the podium that could potentially overshadow what we were trying to communicate because of the polarizing issue of seal hunting. Sustainable seal hunting is of course an Indigenous right, protected by the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. In the end he included a piece of clothing instead, but he wasn’t comfortable with the decision. I think it was a good example of the fact that there’s still a lot of bias and misunderstanding with regards to how many people live their lives. It’s a shame that in times like these there’s not sometimes an opportunity to slow down and ask, “Well, what’s really the important issue here?”
Is there a favourite thing that you’ve managed to achieve in your career?
One that I’m particularly proud of is this last SITE Santa Fe Biennial, which we called Casa tomada, which loosely translated from Spanish to English, is “house taken over” or “house under the influence.” The exhibition was concerned with the question of who belongs and who doesn’t and who decides who belongs and who doesn’t. Given all of the talk at the moment about borders, and this is happening in Ontario as well, a swing to extreme conservative values, the exhibition was a means to respond to this. We included a number of Indigenous artists, Black artists, and Chicano artists, as well as other artists from across the Americas. I think what was really valuable about this project is that it was the first time I think I’ve worked on an exhibition like this where the artworks weren’t seen first and foremost as representing the identity of where the artists were from. The weaving of someone like Melissa Cody, who is Diné/Navajo, was positioned as relating to migration, because the weaving she does emerges from Germantown weaving, which emerged out of the attempted cultural genocide of the Navajo Long Walk (Hwéeldi). The prints and drawings and textiles of Victoria Mamnguqsualuk were included because of her ongoing interest in the figure of Kiviuq, and Kiviuq is this eternal wanderer. I think it is opportunity for us to have this more expanded conversation, especially at a moment when people who consider themselves to be very liberal are having rather close-minded conversations regarding identity. This was an opportunity to open that up.
To learn more about Candice Hopkins’ current role with the Toronto Biennial, visit their website. To learn more about The Spirit Sings and ReVisions, check out these resources: Harrison (1988) "The Spirit Sings: The Last Song?", Wrightson (2017) "The Limits of Recognition: The Spirit Sings, Canadian Museums and the Colonial Politics of Recognition", Dibbelt (1988) "Nations gather to protest Glenbow's Spirit Sings display".
In November I was able to catch world-renowned curator Candice Hopkins on a panel entitled Power and Possession: The Ethics of Collecting at the Gardiner Museum. She mentioned the ethics of donated and fundraised money, and I was intrigued. We sat down in January at the Toronto Biennial headquarters at the Museum of Contemporary Art, where Candice will be stationed for the next two years, to discuss fundraising ethics and more.
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| A sign that reads “We will protect our nation for future generations” at an Idle No More protest in Ottawa in 2013. As Canada becomes more invested in reconciliation measures questions of museum accountability to marginalized groups and nations within Canada are being raised more frequently. Source. |
I think a big question is where that money comes from and who it impacts. Oftentimes funders - particularly in Canada - will fund or be aligned with exhibitions as a PR campaign. One of the best examples I know was an exhibition which took place in 1988 called The Spirit Sings: Artistic Traditions of Canada’s First Peoples which was sponsored by Shell Oil Canada, who were actively drilling on the lands of the Lubicon Lake Cree and many other Indigenous peoples. It was among the first exhibitions to be publicly protested in Canada. Protesters were taking issue with two main things. One, Shell Oil was actively drilling on Native land, Native land in northern Alberta that was left out of the treaty-signing process. Two, the exhibition itself had not involved any work or contribution by living Native people. The only Native people that they were collaborating with were in public programs, and this felt like it was after the fact. Out of this the Task Force on Museums and First Peoples was formed, which I really recommend people look at as an important resource.
And there was a counter-exhibit that was later developed.
It was called ReVisions, and it was at the Walter Phillips Gallery in Banff. One of the best things about ReVisions, which is documented in the catalogue, is an essay by Jean Fisher called “The Health of the People is the Highest Law.” Often people who live in very remote regions have fairly little voice, but the Lubicon [Lake Nation] used the language of existing media in protesting and starting that campaign against The Spirit Sings. They understood one of the ways of raising awareness was to contact all the formerly agreed-upon lenders to the exhibition, including the Smithsonian and the British Museum. They sent them letters asking them to withdraw their loans, and I believe the Smithsonian did, among others. That campaign was a very strategic way of understanding how exhibitions are put together and where the sources of influence are, which includes other museums.
 |
| A display of “Early Indigenous Tools” at the Royal Ontario Museum in Toronto, Ontario. It is important to know not only where and who these tools came from, but also how they were sourced and purchased, and the political and social relationship between the purchaser and Indigenous peoples. Source. |
From my perspective it doesn’t look like accountability for historic and present violence is happening as quickly in museums as it should. How have you observed accountability measures happening?
I think it happens in ways that aren’t as visible. One of the things that we did at the Biennial was to hire Ange Loft, a local Mohawk artist, musician and theatre director. We commissioned her to write the Indigenous Context Brief. One of the great things about the research that she’s been able to do is it gives people a different perspective of this place. When you’re asking artists to come in and work in a place in a way that’s site-responsive, you need to give them very specific kinds of tools. I think some of the biggest changes within institutions at the moment are structural. It’s important to consider questions such as, what is your board makeup? What voices are represented and not? What is your staff make up? How is this reflected in your programming? I think we’re in a position in Canada where we tend to think of society in a very binaristic way. We often think of society in terms of Indigenous people and settlers, and the voices that are left out are immigrant voices, also people who came here not by their own will - Canada also has a history of slavery. I feel like these kinds of histories and relations are important to talk about. [We need to be] thinking about how these conversations and collaborations have emerged, and also conflict, over the history of our country.
When working with the donors is there any push-back in trying to pitch this new way of looking at things?
What I find compelling is how quickly things have started to shift. Recently a potential funder [for the Toronto Biennial] wanted more information about how Indigenous artists will be represented, and also staff, advisors, board, and I thought, “Wow, we’ve come a long way if funders are actually asking for this.” When I first started working in this field, it almost felt like it was a checkbox, with regards to Indigenous participation. I think Canada is in the midst of a historical reckoning where the question of historical reconciliation is being taken seriously, and people are thinking about what their responsibility is in regards to that. On the other hand, I think that what happens when you’re working with funders is that they want to have an impact, so in the context of an exhibition they often want to associate their names with what they feel might be the biggest event. Oftentimes, when you’re working with or as a part of Indigenous projects there’s a real emphasis on process. So how do you create support for that process that might not be visible or it might take a very long time? To invest in people instead of the big, splashy thing at the end, can be a challenge for some funders and even arts organizations to consider.
Have you ever been in a position where you’ve had to compromise your artistic or curatorial vision in order to do what will most please donors, the public, or the media?
For an exhibition called Documenta 14 when it was opening in Kassel, Germany, we had commissioned a Sámi artist, Joar Nango, to produce a podium for us for the press conference. He really was insistent that this podium was made with materials that he had gathered enroute in his drive from Sápmi in northern Norway, all the way down to Athens, and all the way back to Kassel. He wanted to include a sealskin draped over the podium, and the concern from marketing was that there would be inordinate focus on this element of the podium that could potentially overshadow what we were trying to communicate because of the polarizing issue of seal hunting. Sustainable seal hunting is of course an Indigenous right, protected by the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. In the end he included a piece of clothing instead, but he wasn’t comfortable with the decision. I think it was a good example of the fact that there’s still a lot of bias and misunderstanding with regards to how many people live their lives. It’s a shame that in times like these there’s not sometimes an opportunity to slow down and ask, “Well, what’s really the important issue here?”
Is there a favourite thing that you’ve managed to achieve in your career?
One that I’m particularly proud of is this last SITE Santa Fe Biennial, which we called Casa tomada, which loosely translated from Spanish to English, is “house taken over” or “house under the influence.” The exhibition was concerned with the question of who belongs and who doesn’t and who decides who belongs and who doesn’t. Given all of the talk at the moment about borders, and this is happening in Ontario as well, a swing to extreme conservative values, the exhibition was a means to respond to this. We included a number of Indigenous artists, Black artists, and Chicano artists, as well as other artists from across the Americas. I think what was really valuable about this project is that it was the first time I think I’ve worked on an exhibition like this where the artworks weren’t seen first and foremost as representing the identity of where the artists were from. The weaving of someone like Melissa Cody, who is Diné/Navajo, was positioned as relating to migration, because the weaving she does emerges from Germantown weaving, which emerged out of the attempted cultural genocide of the Navajo Long Walk (Hwéeldi). The prints and drawings and textiles of Victoria Mamnguqsualuk were included because of her ongoing interest in the figure of Kiviuq, and Kiviuq is this eternal wanderer. I think it is opportunity for us to have this more expanded conversation, especially at a moment when people who consider themselves to be very liberal are having rather close-minded conversations regarding identity. This was an opportunity to open that up.
To learn more about Candice Hopkins’ current role with the Toronto Biennial, visit their website. To learn more about The Spirit Sings and ReVisions, check out these resources: Harrison (1988) "The Spirit Sings: The Last Song?", Wrightson (2017) "The Limits of Recognition: The Spirit Sings, Canadian Museums and the Colonial Politics of Recognition", Dibbelt (1988) "Nations gather to protest Glenbow's Spirit Sings display".
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