25.02.21

Hi [name redacted],

Thank you for your email, and taking the time to write back to me. It was lovely to meet you and [names redacted] last week, and I appreciated the opportunity to talk about the role further in person.

While you might not have specific feedback for me in this instance, I wonder whether I could offer you some feedback of my own on the application and interview process? Particularly in light of your announcement of the chosen candidate today, and the discrepancy between your selection and the values you spoke of during our interview.

I also write this knowing that by giving you this additional labour, I am in fact putting my own position (as an independent curator with precarious working conditions) in jeopardy, because in part my own survival in this industry relies on being able to work collaboratively with organisations such as your own. But as I tell my students, it is important to lead by your values and work towards a more equitable future than the one you are given, and that we should not accept things simply because they are the status quo.

To be honest, I was hesitant about applying for this role at your organisation at first because when I checked the list of current staff I noticed a lack of diversity amongst your organisation. I knew what it was like to be the only person of colour working in an all-white team from prior experience, and I am aware of the burden and difficulties this might place on an employee’s mental health and capacity. One of the invisible aspects of white privilege working in the arts is not having to do a “diversity check” before you apply for a role – I wish I had that privilege. I was, however, encouraged by seeing greater diversity on the board, knowing that in recent years you have ensured First Nations and POC representation of artists, and it was with this in good faith that I decided I could see myself working at your institution and applied for the position despite my initial misgivings.

At the end of our initial interview, when it was time for me to ask your panel questions, I shared with you my experience of previously feeling unwelcome and alienated by your art institution. I asked you this question not to put you on the spot, but to acknowledge that as someone new to Melbourne, who had no prior connections, or networks in the city, your organisation felt very intimidating and unapproachable. I then asked your panel “what would you be doing going forward to ensure that your organisation is more welcoming, and reaching diverse audiences, not just the audiences you already had.”

I was taken aback by the response of [name redacted], who simply told me that “contemporary art is not for everyone.” While he went on to explain this position in terms of artistic merit and credibility (that is, it is impossible because art is also subjective), the impression I felt upon hearing this remark was that you and I were speaking in different truths. I was also taken aback by this comment because as a publicly funded organisation, who receives support from both state and federal funding bodies, it would seem to me that one of your core goals should be ensuring contemporary art is indeed for everyone – the broader public.

I remember another moment from the interview, when you asked me about my previous experience working with First Nations artists and protocols around cultural safety. I spoke of my prior experience, but also mentioned that we should not ever expect First Nations artists to be a monolith, and that experiences and working methods will differ based on individual situations. I have noticed in recent years interviewing for similar roles at arts organisations that there is always a “diversity question” included in the interview – although framed differently; while I think this demonstrates a commitment or at least awareness by the institution to recognising its whiteness, I felt that asking this question was a performative gesture, particularly in light of what followed.

When I first received the rejection email from you, while I was disappointed to not get the role, I was more disappointed that there was no feedback provided. As someone who has sat on selection panels, and written rejection emails in the past, I always try to ensure I take additional notes to give prospective feedback because I know what it feels like to be on the receiving end of that rejection. Knowing the hours it takes to prepare an application, as well as the mental toll and stress of preparing for interview, I felt that this was common courtesy in recognition of the labour of the applicant. I acknowledge that your time is likely stretched between multiple commitments and deadlines so I did not think to bring this up again.

However, on seeing the announcement of your selected candidate for the role today, I felt I was no longer able to be quiet. That my disappointment has taken on another form, the inevitable “oh” of realising that I should have trusted my gut instinct. That there was no place for me here. I spoke with a number of my peers, who each shared their disappointment with me, to see yet another white man chosen for a curatorial role at an arts organisation.

It is hard to express my disappointment without it appearing I am bitter about my rejection, but please know that my disappointment is not at you, but at the Melbourne arts sector I have been a part of for the last six years. When I first moved here I wrote a piece critiquing the whiteness of this sector, an article that at that time in 2017 was shared widely by peers in the community. I received a lot of messages from other people of colour artists and curators, who shared their similar experiences in this sector.

But I still persisted. Not only is it extremely difficult to get a paid arts job, it’s extremely difficult to get a paid arts job and do the (often unvalued) labour of being a person of colour who is striving for change within the sector. This is an experience that is not singular to me, but affects a whole community of curators of colours who are extremely qualified, experienced, and passionate – but get passed over frequently for a more “palatable” or “safe” choice.

There have been times when I have been invited into spaces to work, to consult, to provide labour, but when it comes to choosing a candidate for the ongoing paid job, it goes to a male candidate with less experience. There is another letter I could write about the remuneration of labour, of how women frequently do the care work for free, while men get the gig. I see this happen frequently at the university context where I work, but perhaps here I am going off-course.  

I recognise this, and I see it happen, yet still I persist. Yet still I hope.

At what point do I stop? At what point do I stop asking you the questions I know you cannot provide me the answers for? At what point do I trust my gut instinct and not apply for roles that are advertised but are not for me?

My feedback to you is as follows:

1.    Be honest about who the audience you care about is, and why. If you don’t care about “everyone”, don’t try to pretend you do. Acknowledge your elitism.

2.    Recognise in your own team the unconscious biases of white supremacy, even if this is uncomfortable to confront.

3.    Recognise how white supremacy and patriarchy work together to ensure what we recognise as “excellence”.

4.    Recognise the immense power you hold, and the cultural capital that your organisation and its employees hold. Use it responsibly and distribute the wealth and resources.

I hope this feedback is helpful to you. For any additional questions or time, I ask that you remunerate me for my time and labour and donate a consultation fee to a mutual aid support network. I will also be sharing this letter, with all identifying names redacted, on my website as a resource.  

Thank you for your time.

Warm wishes,

Sophia