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Hanyun Xue / Curating (2024-2025)[SEM2]

Tag: Relational Aesthetics

W12-A Curatorial Experiment at Summerhall–Fear as a Method

By

On 21 April 2025

In Curatorial Experiment at Summerhall, 💬 Peer Exchange & Curatorial Dialogue

Part 1:

Introduction

Before anything else, let me show you what we made.
This is the title slide from our final curatorial presentation:

Please click the link to view

Fear as a Method

link:https://blogs.ed.ac.uk/s2500923_curating-2024-2025sem2/wp-content/uploads/sites/11192/2025/04/Fear-as-a-Method.pdf

(Fear as a Method A sensory workshop. March 29, 2025 · Summerhall · In Vitro Gallery)

Our PPT laid out the structure, intent, and emotional architecture of the workshop.
We framed fear not as pathology but as a method—
a curatorial tool to explore perception, misjudgment, and emotional co-creation.

We offered no art objects. No polished installations.
What we gave participants was a guided pathway—
through touch, sound, spatial disorientation, and quiet reflection.

They left not with answers, but with a method.
And we, as curators, left with better questions.

This blog is a reflection on how that happened.
Not just how we built the workshop,
but how the workshop built us.

Part 2:

Curatorial review and reflection

I. Where It All Began: Feeling Our Way Into a Method

We didn’t begin with a perfect concept. We began with a shared feeling—something more like a hunch than a plan.

It was early March, and the four of us—Yiran, Yufan, Lingqiu, and I—were tucked into a quiet café corner, half-lost in conversation, half-sketching thoughts onto napkins. What kept coming up was this strange, slippery word: fear. Not as an idea to explain, but as a sensation we couldn’t quite pin down. I remember looking up and asking:
“What if fear isn’t something we display, but something we practice—something we can stay with, even gently rehearse?”
And that was it. That question became the doorway to everything that followed.

Right from the beginning, I didn’t want to make an exhibition people only looked at. I wanted to make something people felt through. We proposed the central theme—Fear as a Method—as a way to move away from visuals, and into something more internal: a participatory, sensory, body-centered experience. Not therapy. Not theatre. Just a quiet space where people could encounter their fear—not to fix it, but to understand it differently.

II. Building from the Course: Three Weeks that Shaped Everything

W4: Curatorial Ethics

This week changed our entire approach to curating. It taught our to think not only about what we show, but how people feel when moving through a space. Inspired by course readings on care, vulnerability, and bodily safety (O’Neill, Wilson), We began designing the workshop route not as a gallery but as an emotional threshold.

I made key decisions here:

  • Using soft materials like feathers and ribbon to create sensory ambiguity.
  • Incorporating ambient sound layers that blend comfort and tension.
  • Emphasizing psychological safety while gently pushing discomfort.

Our route was not designed for clarity, but for internal resonance.

(The photographer of the event photos: Yiran Gu)

W6: Artist-led Curation

This week’s examples reminded me that a curator can also be a facilitator, a host, or a listener. I saw the power of allowing others to co-create the emotional temperature of a project.

We structured the workshop so that each participant could move at their own pace, in silence, blindfolded, uninterrupted. I personally designed the route flow and sound transitions to support this rhythm, ensuring people could drift inward.

During testing, I adjusted the transitions between sensory stations based on what participants felt—not what we expected. My role became not just designer, but emotional cartographer.

(“Fear as a Method” sensory route – exhibition layout sketch, April 2025. Includes Blindfold Zone, Crunch Floor, Ribbon Installations, Producer of the effect drawing: Yiran Gu.)

W9: Publishing as Curation

This week was perhaps the most transformative for me. We studied “The Phone is the Keyhole; The Penpot, the Heart” and I was completely moved. Their refusal of polish, their embrace of emotional honesty, and their prioritizing of friendship as method helped me see publishing not as post-event documentation, but as an integral part of the curatorial experience.

So I proposed:

“Let’s make the back side of our zine a toolkit.”
“Not just to reflect, but to use. Something they can take away.”

I designed the emotional kit section with fill-in prompts, soft design choices, and handwritten elements—so participants could continue the workshop privately, on their own terms.

(Zine mock-up: Designed and written by the team, All images are co-created by the event participants. )

III. Making and Unmaking: Group Process and Living Diagrams

Our group worked in Miro constantly. Looking back, our board doesn’t just show logistics—it shows our thinking style: layered, nonlinear, highly emotional. We mapped quotes, fears, diagrams, workshop flows, and even doubt. The board became a record of not just what we did, but how we made decisions. This was also the first time I felt fully comfortable disagreeing in a group—I knew my ideas (and feelings) had space.

Together we refined:

  • The misjudgment stations (I curated the sound textures).
  • The route structure (I directed how the body flows).
  • The language tone (I crafted the closing reflection speech).
  • The publication design (I created the concept for the emotional takeaway page). (Miro process map – team discussion and emotional mapping Screenshot from team Miro board, March 2025. Author: Team archive.)

IV. The Workshop: A Rehearsal for Courage

On the day of the workshop, I was nervous. Not about logistics, but about whether people would actually feel something. We weren’t showing art. We were inviting people to surrender their sight, to misjudge, to be vulnerable.

At the end of the route, I delivered the final speech:

Thank you for walking this path.
Maybe you didn’t guess anything right.
Maybe you startled yourself.
Maybe—you weren’t afraid at all.

Sometimes, fear isn’t a mistake. It’s a reminder.
It says: “There’s something here that frightens you.”
Maybe it’s a memory.
Maybe it’s something from childhood.

In the dark, fear becomes clearer.
But often, fear comes not from what’s real—
but from what we imagine.
Reality is rarely as terrifying as our minds make it out to be.

When you realise that what you’re afraid of
is actually a past wound speaking,
and when you gather the courage to face it—
that fear may already be halfway gone.

Now, write one sentence—
a message for a future version of yourself who might be afraid.
When fear returns, how will you remind yourself?

Remind yourself that we always have courage.
Enough to face one unknown after another.

This is the little method you take with you today.
A quiet piece of courage that belongs only to you.

They took the zines. They wrote themselves notes for the future.
And I watched them place those sticky notes on the wall—
each one a small sentence of survival.

V.Team Roles and Contributions

1. Hanyun Xue — Experience Curator (Emotional Facilitator)
As the group’s emotional anchor, Hanyun served as the guide and psychological support throughout the experience. With her background in art and counseling, she shaped the language of comfort and trust. Her voice—calm, attentive, and clear—helped participants navigate their fear safely, especially in moments of sensory disorientation.

2. Lingqiu Xiao — Spatial Choreographer (The Lobby Manager)
As the “lobby manager” of our emotional space, Lingqiu took charge of real-time movement and crowd coordination. Like a stage choreographer, she arranged the physical flow of participants with a sharp eye for timing and calm control. From managing transitions to maintaining safety during blindfolded routes, she held the space with both precision and empathy.

3. Yiran Gu — Sensory Orchestrator (Media & Technical Lead)
Acting as our behind-the-scenes technician, Yiran handled both sound design and video documentation. She composed the atmospheric sound layers and recorded the workshop with sensitivity—capturing fleeting gestures, silences, and reactions. Her work preserved the ephemeral feeling of the event and helped us build a self-archive rooted in emotion.

4. Yufan Wang — Service Narrator (Flow & Discipline Coordinator)
Taking on the role of “discipline coordinator,” Yufan made sure everything ran smoothly. She oversaw timing, participant rhythm, and station transitions. Quiet but ever-present, she was the backstage voice who ensured that nothing felt rushed or chaotic. Her sense of order gave structure to the experience—and her steady presence made it feel secure.

My Role, My Reflection

Task Description
Theme Initiation Proposed the core concept “Fear as a Method” during the first brainstorming session.
Sound Design Selected and edited sound textures for sensory misjudgment zones (e.g. insects, feathers).
Route Planning Designed the blindfolded walking route; guided spatial pacing and emotional rhythm.
Emotional Toolkit Design (Zine) Created the reflective back page of the zine with writing prompts and coping actions.
Closing Speech Wrote and delivered the final speech during the workshop to reflect on emotional insights.
Exhibition Recap (PPT) Co-developed the final presentation slides on team roles, outcomes, and reflections.

1: Research

We applied emotional ethics (W4), sensory curation (W6), and affective publishing (W9) directly into the design of this project. We referenced not only course texts but practices by artists like Marina Abramović (who uses presence as method), and Tramway’s Jarman exhibition (W7), which made private pain public without aestheticizing it.

2: Practice

I coordinated theme direction, sensory station design, wrote and delivered the workshop’s closing, and authored the emotional reflection page in the zine. I also curated sound elements, choreographed the route, and contributed to visual consistency in our publishing and video documentation.

3: Reflection

I realised that curating isn’t about “creating something to be looked at.” It’s about creating a space where something can happen—for real people, in real time. The workshop was about trust. And we earned it.

VI. Outcomes Are Not Just Outputs

Our project ultimately consisted of four interwoven outcomes:

  • Our curatorial presentation (PPT), which archived our judgment, not just our actions.

Fear as a Method

Looking Back, and Forward

Fear as a Method was not perfect—but it was personal, alive, and full of care. We didn’t aim to heal people. We offered them a method to rehearse feeling, misjudgment, and return.

It taught me what kind of curator I want to be:
Not a guide. Not a gatekeeper.
But a quiet facilitator of difficult feeling.

That, to me, is where curating begins.

Blog 1 – Project Title & Narrative｜From Authority to Co-Creation: Why I Curate “Fluidly”

By

On 12 April 2025

In ✨ Individual Curatorial Project: Fluid Curating

Curatorial Narrative: From Top-down Authority to Distributed Dialogue

When I first imagined Fluid Curating, I wasn’t interested in simply organizing an exhibition. I wanted to challenge something deeper: the invisible lines of power that often define who gets to choose, explain, and validate meaning in art. Traditional curating—though rich in historical methods—often centers on a single authoritative voice. What if we reimagine this voice as a chorus? What if meaning could emerge from conversation rather than instruction?

My project stems from this desire to shift away from the curator as sovereign. I was inspired by early discussions in Week 1 and Week 2 around institutions, platforms, and authorship, and began asking: who really holds curatorial power, and who gets to speak? These reflections led me to decentralisation, not as a purely technical gesture, but as a curatorial attitude—one that opens space, redistributes authorship, and invites collective meaning-making.

This shift isn’t just conceptual. It has emotional and ethical stakes. My vision for Fluid Curating is built around co-creation: an ecosystem where artists, audiences, and curators share responsibility for shaping not only the content of the exhibition, but its rhythm, its routes, and its interpretation.

Curatorial Questions Driving the Exhibition

  • Can meaning be co-authored rather than delivered?
  • What happens when audiences don’t just observe, but write, vote, and narrate?
  • If we design for decentralisation, does power truly move—or just appear to?

These questions echo many discussed in our course, especially those explored during Week 4 (Curatorial Ethics), Week 9 (Publishing as Curating), and Week 10 (Publics and Participation). They continue to guide my decisions—from spatial design to media choice, from participation structure to the ethics of attribution.

What Fluid Curating Means in Practice

Fluid Curating is not only a name, but a structure—one that puts decentralisation into curatorial action. It proposes an exhibition framework that cannot be completed without the audience. It is not “for” them, but “with” them.

The space is designed as a rhizomatic grid rather than a linear pathway, enabling visitors to navigate freely, remap meaning, and even rename spaces using coloured tape trails. The artworks—primarily participatory installations by CAP artists and invited collaborators—remain open-ended until activated by audience interaction. Visitors become necessary co-authors in bringing the work to life.

Interpretation is equally decentralised. Audiences can scan a QR code to access a shared platform (via Woolclap) where they co-write curatorial texts, share voice notes, and reflect in real time. These contributions are updated and projected daily, forming a “living wall of meaning” that evolves with each visitor’s presence.

Display arrangements are not fixed. Every three days, works are reconfigured based on audience feedback, voting, and engagement metrics. Exhibition design becomes fluid—data-driven but people-responsive.

After the show, audience-created content will be compiled into a collectively-authored Zine, capturing curatorial texts, sound fragments, and reflections. A summary market report will also be generated to visualize interaction heatmaps, keyword clusters, and value perception trends—offering emerging artists and institutions new insights into participatory demand.

This is not a spectacle of participation—it is an invitation to redefine curating itself.

Case Studies: Inspirations That Changed My Curatorial Lens

Several exhibitions and curatorial models became reference points:

  • Documenta 11’s “Platforms” (2002) replaced one curatorial voice with many.

  • Gwangju Biennale’s “Roundtable Curating” model reimagined curation as circular and collective.

  • Manifesta 6 and its offshoots like Night School transformed exhibition into experimental schools.

  • Copenhagen Free University and Tania Bruguera’s Arte de Conducta redefined artists as curators of knowledge and experience.

Together, these cases helped me see how fluid, participatory, and educational models decentralise curatorial control and share authorship with artists and publics.

Soft Reflection: From Concept to Commitment

Rather than offering a separate reflection section, I believe my project’s material and structural changes speak for themselves. Through studio visits with CAP artists, peer review exchanges, and in-class provocations, I came to see co-creation not as a supplement to curating, but as its generative core.

The move away from speculative technologies (NFTs, blockchain, AI) toward something more grounded—student-led, low-cost, audience-responsive—wasn’t a compromise. It was a choice. A choice to center experience over infrastructure, participation over programming.

As Rancière reminds us in The Emancipated Spectator, the act of seeing is never passive—it is interpretative, active, and political. Fluid Curating doesn’t just accept this—it designs for it.

Citations

  • Jeffery, Celina. The Artist as Curator. Bristol: Intellect, 2016.

  • Macdonald, Sarah. Exhibition Experiments. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2007.

  • Martinon, Jean-Paul. The Curatorial: A Philosophy of Curating. London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2013.

  • O’Neill, Paul, and Mick Wilson. Curating and the Educational Turn. London: Open Editions, 2010.

  • Smith, Terry. Thinking Contemporary Curating. New York: Independent Curators International (ICI), 2012.

🎡 W9 (2) – Speed Curating at CAT × CAP: Conversations that Sparked Something Real

By

On 16 March 2025

In ✨ Individual Curatorial Project: Fluid Curating, 💬 Peer Exchange & Curatorial Dialogue, 🧭 Field Notes & Exhibition Visits

Hi everyone,


This week I participated in a special joint event between CAT (Contemporary Art Theory) and CAP (Contemporary Art Practice) students. We met not on Teams, but face-to-face in the West Court, and I have to say—it was more inspiring than I imagined.

The format was based on Speed Curating, a method adapted from the UK Arts Council. CAP students introduced their art practices in quick 2-minute bursts, while us CAT students shared five key curatorial interests. It was fast, a little chaotic, but filled with energy and curiosity.

🎨 Meeting Artists, Meeting Possibilities

As a CAT student working on my Fluid Curating project, this event was a goldmine. I heard so many artist presentations that aligned with what I’ve been thinking about—audience interaction, sensory engagement, performative gestures, and curating as a living process.

Some CAP students showed deeply personal work about memory, others presented interactive installations. I had some great chats about how audiences can intervene, not just observe; how we might co-create exhibitions where the boundaries between artist, curator, and viewer start to dissolve.

✨ My Five Curatorial Keywords

To help introduce my ideas during the event, I shared five key themes that define my practice. I’ll share them here too:

  1. Decentralised Curation
    I want to challenge top-down models. Can the audience’s decisions, movements, and emotions shape the exhibition just as much as the curators’?

  2. Audience Intervention
    I’m interested in how viewers might not just observe, but alter—touching, rearranging, or reshaping the work as part of the exhibition itself.

  3. Co-Creation
    Rather than presenting finished works, I want to collaborate with artists to create open structures where outcomes remain fluid and evolving.

  4. Curation as Process
    I see curating as something unfolding in time. Not a fixed result, but a process that’s shaped by those who enter the space and what they bring.

  5. Shifting Curatorial Authority
    What happens when curators give up control, and artists invite intervention? Can letting go create something more alive, more real?

These ideas became beautiful conversation starters. Some CAP students lit up when I described exhibitions as perception practice fields, or when I said, “What if we don’t design the message, but design a mood and let the rest happen?”

One of the artists, Sijia Chen, shared a tree with us—though not just any tree. This one was an installation made of welded steel branches, fuzzy pink yarn, and sparkling hanging ornaments. Right in the center stood a solid metal trunk, something she built herself.
She said it represents those immovable forces in our world—systems, structures, or maybe even fate. But what caught my attention were the branches. Around the steel frame, she invited us to add colorful bendable sticks (they had wires inside, so we could twist them into shapes).
People made spirals, loops, even strange little symbols. This wasn’t just decoration. She called it “an editable tree.”

And honestly, I loved that phrase.

The idea behind it was so powerful. Sure, the trunk—the core—is fixed. But everything around it? Open to change.
It’s a metaphor for participation within structure, for how individuals can intervene, re-shape, and re-narrate even within rigid systems. It reminded me so much of what I’m trying to do with Fluid Curating. Not to destroy the framework of exhibitions, but to invite others into it. To say, “Come, add your branch.” The editable tree became, in that moment, a perfect symbol of co-creation. It was poetic, but also quietly radical.

I walked away thinking: maybe my own curatorial space could offer this same gesture. A framework that’s solid, but soft around the edges. A space where people don’t just observe, but gently re-edit what’s there.

Another work that really stuck with me came from artist Xudong Jia. He showed us a digital interactive piece—on screen, it looked like pink flowers exploding outward, or maybe colorful ink swirling in water. It was beautiful at first glance, almost hypnotic.
Then he told us the title: The Evil Flower.

The screen was equipped with facial recognition. Every time someone approached, the image would shift. The flower would grow bigger, darker, more aggressive.
Jia explained that the piece was about the butterfly effect, about online violence—how no single snowflake in an avalanche is innocent. The more people watched, the more the flower “blamed” them.

It hit me hard. The interactivity wasn’t playful, it was accusatory. You weren’t in control of the work—it was confronting you. That twist in perspective really stayed with me. It wasn’t interaction for interaction’s sake; it was interaction as responsibility.
I kept thinking about how this could fit into my own idea of Fluid Curating—where audience behavior doesn’t just “complete” the exhibition, it actually shapes its emotional direction. What if interactivity could be unsettling? What if being seen by the artwork is part of the artwork?

This piece challenged me. And that’s exactly what I want my exhibitions to do.

🧠 Reflections and Next Steps

This session wasn’t just useful—it was moving. I left with several artists I’d love to follow up with. Some of them are exploring clay as a soft resistance. Others are working with sound, text, or ephemeral materials.
I can already imagine co-curating something gentle, open, and audience-responsive together.

In the next few weeks, I’ll be deepening my readings on participatory art and affective curating. I’ve already started noting quotes from Curating and the Educational Turn that feel like they’re speaking directly to what I’m trying to do:

“They seem to seek not the masterful production of expertise… but the co-production of question, ambiguity and enquiry.” (O’Neill and Wilson, 2013)

Yes. That’s exactly it.

This was more than a networking session. It was a seed-planting moment. And I’m already looking forward to what might grow.

W8-Tracing Emotion Through Space: Three Galleries, One Heart-My Field Notes from Glasgow

By

On 11 March 2025

In 📚 Curatorial Theory & Literature Reflection, 🧭 Field Notes & Exhibition Visits

🌙 Tracing Emotion Through Space: Three Galleries, One Heart
— My Field Notes from Glasgow

When I first set out for Glasgow, I didn’t think too much. I just felt it was always worth going to see some exhibitions. But I didn’t expect that this one-day journey would leave behind so many subtle ripples inside me.

🏛 First Stop: Hunterian

It looked like the kind of museum I had always imagined—rows of neatly aligned display cases, carefully controlled lighting, and spaces so clean they resembled laboratories.
The exhibition itself was powerful, dealing with colonial medicine, bodily control, and scientific violence. I stood in front of a wax anatomical model, and suddenly I realized: this wasn’t just about “presenting knowledge” it was also a kind of violence of being observed.

I began to ask myself: as curators, when we reconstruct these histories, is there a risk that we unknowingly repeat this gaze?

Thoughts of my own curatorial project floated into my mind. If I want to tell a story about the body and memory, how should I wrap that pain? With cold light? With silence? The rationality of Hunterian made me want to rebel.

That evening, I looked up several books and tried to process the confusion I felt. In Labour and Monopoly Capital, Harry Braverman’s analysis of Fordist labor made me wonder—does exhibition design also contain a form of knowledge division and a discipline of vision? Burton Benedict’s The Anthropology of World’s Fairs opened my eyes to how spatial atmospheres shape collective psychology, affecting how we read an object.

And then there was Propaganda and Empire by John M. MacKenzie. He reminds us that exhibitions don’t just present history, they actively construct it. That struck me deeply: if I want to explore bodies and power in my project, then form itself can never be neutral.

✨ Second Stop: Tramway

The moment I entered Tramway, I knew I’d remember it for a long time.

There was no prominent signage at the entrance, but inside, the gallery unfolded like a giant dream. Maud Sulter’s You are my kindred spirit quietly lived in this space. Semi-transparent curtains drifted softly, and images emerged from behind fabric—making me slow down, as if walking through someone’s family memories.
Photos, videos, and sound fragments wove together overlapping identities of mother, daughter, and Black female poet.

What stayed with me the most was the lighting—so beautifully handled. Some artworks were rimmed with a warm glow, like the sun casting slanted rays onto old curtains at dusk. It didn’t just illuminate, it narrated. Sometimes it felt like a secret being gently lit, sometimes like longing softly crying in the corner.

There was also a “circular reading room” in the space—books, headphones, stools, a projection—arranged like a soft corner of a home. I sat there reading Sulter’s family photo albums and poetry, and suddenly I understood: an exhibition doesn’t always have to display—it can accompany.

That night I opened Nicolas Bourriaud’s Relational Aesthetics, where he describes exhibitions as spaces of encounter. I felt so much resonance. And in Hawkins’ writing on the AIDS Memorial Quilt, I saw curating not only as a practice of structure, but as an act of social empathy.

I began to reimagine my own project Fluid Curating—could I also create a “non-exhibition corner”? A place where visitors stop reading labels, and instead pause to listen, to smell, to look at an old photo—and find their own relationship to the work?

🎬 Third Stop: GoMA

Our last stop was GoMA, where we saw John Akomfrah’s Mimesis: African Soldier. Three giant screens surrounded us, black and white war footage, slow-motion water washing over old photographs, and single-word subtitles like disenchantment and mourning, no narration, just music and fragments of visual poetry.

For a moment, I felt a bit lost. But I was completely drawn in. I remember one scene: soldiers dancing in uniform on muddy ground, music sorrowful and beautiful. I thought, maybe they were trying to reclaim their dignity as human beings in the midst of war.

I recalled Okwui Enwezor’s curatorial concept in Documenta 11, where he emphasized decentering the Western gaze and using exhibitions to address global trauma. Akomfrah’s work felt like a silent cry, a voice for lives swallowed by history. Other curatorial examples, like Red Shift or Treno, reminded me how art can be a stage for the silenced.

One line from the AIDS Memorial Quilt struck me: its center is wherever you find it. That made me realize—not every exhibition needs a clear narrative. Sometimes, scattered memories, flowing gazes, and overlapping emotions feel more true to how we actually experience life.

I started thinking seriously about non-linear structures in curating. Maybe what I need is not a “linear exhibition path,” but a kind of curatorial weaving. Not a script, but a net.

Mimesis: African Soldier — V21 Artspace | Interactive 3D Exhibition ...

🎒 What I’ve Learned Isn’t Just Curating

As the day ended, I sat on the train back to Edinburgh with a phone full of photos and audio clips. I realized I wasn’t just viewing the exhibitions, they were seeing through me. They pierced through my obsession with “explaining everything,” and slowly opened up a new awareness: exhibitions can also be felt.

I don’t want to be a curator who only explains. I want to be someone who speaks through emotion: who creates a space where viewers can find their own moments of resonance between light and shadow, between sound and silence.

📚 Further Reading

Benedict, Burton. “The Anthropology of World’s Fairs: San Francisco’s Panama Pacific International Exposition of 1915.” Visual Anthropology, vol. 3, no. 1–2, 1990, pp. 17–34.

Bourriaud, Nicolas. Relational Aesthetics. Dijon: Les presses du réel, 2002.

Braverman, Harry. Labour and Monopoly Capital: The Degradation of Work in the Twentieth Century. New York: Monthly Review Press, 1974.

Enwezor, Okwui. “The Black Box.” In Documenta 11_Platform 5: Exhibition Catalogue, edited by Ute Meta Bauer, 43–55. Ostfildern-Ruit: Hatje Cantz, 2002.

Greenberg, Reesa, Bruce W. Ferguson, and Sandy Nairne, eds. Thinking about Exhibitions. London: Routledge, 1996.

Hawkins, Peter S. “Naming Names: The Art of Memory and the NAMES Project AIDS Quilt.” Critical Inquiry 19, no. 4 (1993): 752–779.

MacKenzie, John M. Propaganda and Empire: The Manipulation of British Public Opinion, 1880–1960. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1984.

Wilson, Fred. “Mining the Museum.” In Fred Wilson: A Critical Reader, edited by Doro Globus, 38–49. London: Ridinghouse, 2011.

cover

W2-Initial Thoughts on My Curatorial Project

By

On 27 January 2025

In ✨ Individual Curatorial Project: Fluid Curating

Title: Speculative Curation: Exploring Symbolic Power in the Art Market 🎨💡

 

Introduction: My Theme and Background

 

Lately, I’ve been brainstorming ideas for my curatorial project, and I’ve decided to focus on “Value Construction and Symbolic Power in the Art Market.” This theme was inspired by my personal experiences—working at Sotheby’s made me realize that the value of art isn’t just about the work itself. It’s shaped by a complex interplay of cultural, economic, and social factors. The price tag? That’s just the surface. The real power lies in the narratives and systems behind it.

This theme aligns perfectly with the values of our course, especially the ideas of relational and critical curating. I want my project to explore how auctions construct cultural meanings and challenge viewers to rethink the invisible mechanisms of the art world.

 

Initial Research and Course Insights

As I began my research, the concept of the “Capitalocene” (thanks to our lectures!) became a key lens for my thinking. It frames capitalism as a force that shapes not just economies but also culture and societal structures. This helped me see the art market as more than a transactional space—it’s a microcosm of modern power dynamics.

One example that stood out during our class discussions was the “24/7” exhibition (2020, Somerset House). This show explored the relationship between time and consumer culture, and it sparked my thinking about how auctions—both brief and performative—are like ritualized spectacles of cultural value.

I’ve also been diving into the work of Andreas Gursky, particularly his piece 99 Cent (1999). His hyperreal depiction of consumerism highlights the tension between the mundane and the symbolic—something I think is deeply relevant to the art market.

📖 References:

•Gursky, A. (1999). 99 Cent. C-Print.

•Bourdieu, P. (1984). Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgment of Taste. Harvard University Press.

 

Gursky, A. (1999). 99 Cent. C-Print.

(Source:https://www.andreasgursky.com/en/works/1999/99-cent/zoom:1)

 

 

 

Speculative Curation: My Format and Approach

For my project, I’m envisioning a participatory, interactive exhibition that simulates the experience of an art auction. My goal? To let visitors step into the roles of bidders and experience how value is constructed in real-time. Here’s my current plan:

🎤 Main Exhibition Areas:

1.“The Auction Room”:

•A multimedia installation recreating the atmosphere of a high-profile auction. Participants can bid on artworks using virtual tokens, deciding on their value based on provided backstories.

2.“Behind the Scenes”:

•A display showing how artworks are marketed and their values shaped by institutions, media, and collectors.

🤝 Interactive Elements:

•Visitors will anonymously “bid” on artworks and see how their choices affect the final outcome.

•A live projection of data will show how each piece’s “value” evolves based on audience participation.

This participatory model reflects the “relational curating” we discussed in class. By involving the audience, I hope to transform them from passive viewers into active participants in the symbolic power dynamics of the art world.

 

Critical Reflection: Challenges and Next Steps

Of course, the complexity of this theme presents challenges:

1.Simplifying Complexity:

•The art market involves multiple layers (economic, cultural, political). How do I simplify this for my audience without oversimplifying the meaning?

2.Engaging Participation:

•How do I ensure visitors engage meaningfully with the auction simulation, rather than seeing it as just a “game”?

To tackle these, I plan to:

•Research case studies of famous auctions (e.g., record-breaking Sotheby’s sales) to find accessible yet impactful examples.

•Get feedback from peers and tutors to refine the interactive elements and ensure they resonate with viewers.

 

Next Steps and What I’m Looking Forward To

🔍 What’s next?

1.I’ll dive deeper into auction case studies and symbolic capital theories.

2.Begin drafting initial sketches of the exhibition layout and interactive elements.

3.Share my ideas in group discussions to get feedback and refine my approach.

✨ What I hope to gain:

•Insights from my classmates on how to make the interactive elements more impactful.

•Suggestions on how to balance the educational and participatory aspects of the project.

 

Closing Thoughts

Writing this blog has helped me organize my thoughts and refine my project focus. I’m excited to explore how art auctions are not just about selling artworks but about constructing entire systems of meaning and power. I look forward to getting feedback from everyone—every perspective helps me improve! 😊

(P.S. If you’ve been to an art auction or have thoughts about symbolic power in art, I’d love to hear your insights in the comments! 💬)

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