Or: „Who cares about the bottom?“

Reflections
by Cẩm-Anh Lương
2024

How can curatorial practices incorporate diverse perspectives and voices, and what conflicts can arise? Where can we find a history that includes unheard, marginalized, feminist, and postcolonial voices from the bottom up? 

These were some of the questions raised during a symposium on “Curating through Conflicts with Care”, featuring Lama Al Khatib and Cornelius Refem Fogha Mc. As a “bottom-art-practitioner”, I was struck by the need for a bottom-up approach to identify the challenges in existing infrastructure and create a more inclusive art ecosystem. While several approaches came to mind, these questions in particular lingered in my mind. So, how can we start from the bottom and work our way up (and perhaps back around to the bottom again)? Who cares about the bottom? 

Short answer: the bottom is the fundamental. Without the bottom, there would be no top! 

On one hand, there might be people like me – a first-generation migrant, newcomer, mother, career switcher, mature student, and artist (depending on the year I arrived in Germany). On the other hand, there may be white, native, established artists with existing networks who center their artwork around inclusivity and are praised for their efforts to provide accessibility for migrants or refugees who are excluded from art institutions. Who benefits in the long run after an exhibition is curated? Does the collective continue to exist? Who receives credits? Who returns to oppression after experiencing a Cinderella moment – a shooting star moment – only to disappear (down) into the cruel mundanity of those at the bottom? 

Sara Ahmed suggests that diversity workers aim to encourage organizations to commit to diversity, but the interpretation of that commitment varies within those organizations. ¹ The reality is that there is no specialized space for those at the bottom, and top-level administrators often do not take diversity work seriously, making it difficult for those in less esteemed positions. As multiple deadlines approach and challenges arise, those not at the top struggle to perform at the same level due to the additional obstacles they face. 

During a community project in 2021 which focused on the experiences of BIPOC and transnational students in a predominantly white space, it became clear that universities often fail to recognize the importance of spaces organized by students for socializing. The “performance space” was created for those who needed it, not for those who fit a certain category. Tokenization and internalization lead to cracks between participants, revealing the hierarchy of the bottom. While working on a prestigious exhibition in a collective last year, I learned again of a repeating pattern of hierarchy. The words used to praise diversity and fight exclusion from within art institutions often fail to capture the violent realities hidden between them. What unites those at the bottom with those at the top? Where do we find common ground? 

While pondering these big questions, I looked out of my window to my neighborhood and noticed a natural wonder on the lawn – a circle of fungi known as a fairy ring. ² It grew miraculously after a few days of heavy rain in early August in Berlin. This natural wonder reminds me of a mindfulness exercise led by Shivā Āmiri on the second day of the symposium where we formed a circle, mindful of our surroundings and breathing. It was a temporal sweet moment of (physically) union among the participants, as we formed a circle in the crack (literally) between the buildings of Südblock, while the city pigeons were still picking at their crumbs on the ground next to us. 

Viewing curatorial practice as a social activity that focuses on the connections between objects, people, places, and discourses (Maria Lind & Jens Hoffmann), ³ what can we learn from the natural infrastructure of a fairy ring? A fairy ring begins with the mycelium of a mushroom falling in a favourable spot and sending out a subterranean network of fine, tubular threads called hyphae. Similarly, curatorial practices can start with diverse perspectives and voices. Power imbalances between established trees and the fragile fungal network can lead to conflicts, which may not be visible to ignorant human eyes. How can fungal networks communicate with their surroundings to share resources? Language barriers, different environments, and other temporal issues can hinder communication. Some members of the ecosystem, such as trees and wildflowers, have already included mushrooms in their “biodiversity and inclusivity program.” Others may still be fragments of mycelium floating around in the ground, hoping for visibility and inclusion. After all, without the nutrition provided by some hyphae in the network, could this tree exist long-term, firmly, visibly, sustainably at the top? 

Curatorial practices can start by attempting to identify potential networks before they even exist, just as a fairy ring is formed by the mycelium of a mushroom. This involves communicating with and building trust among artists or members of collectives, which cannot be achieved overnight! 

The mushrooms that grow up from this circular underground mat form a similar pattern above ground, reflecting diverse perspectives and voices in curatorial practices. Diversity and inclusion should be an ongoing process that requires continuous attention and effort, much like how the outer edges of the fairy ring keep growing year by year.