Autonomy and Ritual

The Kunsthalle Osnabrück is housed in a former Dominican monastery from the 13th century. The church’s Gothic architecture is a masterpiece in itself. Displaying contemporary art in such a venue creates the greatest tension possible. It brings old and new perspectives together in dialogue. We regard this exchange as extremely fruitful. At the same time, my colleague Anna Jehle, with whom I co-manage the Kunsthalle Osnabrück, and I have adopted an institutionally critical approach. We don’t want to ascribe to the genius cult, around which masterpieces are inevitably connected. Rather, we see the Kunsthalle Osnabrück as a place which respectfully handles historical heritage but also aims to dismantle the barriers obstructing access to art.

On one hand, there is the canon, in which the art scene itself is anchored. Things that are trendy today eventually go mainstream and trickle through. One should view the rise and role of hype with a critical eye. On the other hand, there is an established popular taste which also reflects what children are learning in school. And because this understanding of art and the so-called masterpieces is formed at such a young age, education is very important to us. We are currently watching with interest at the impact AI will have, especially given how easy it makes generating art. How will the art market react and how will it influence the canon? Will the focus shift again to ‘masterpieces’ and the ‘genius artist’ so as to distinguish them from the generic? Of course, the same fear arose with the advent of other media, as with photography. Art will always find ways and means to remain free, to innovate and think critically.

The need for a canon has always been there. What I find more relevant, however, is the question of ‘safe artworks’ – ones that are easier to consume, that are less critical. But where does that lead us? For us it’s important to present diversity, both the established and non-established works in the art market. We see that they mutually enrich each other. We can only learn from this diversity. Being open to different perspectives is also a question of tolerance and participation. We have to tolerate being confronted with aesthetic differences and being surprised.

In view of the strained budgetary circumstances, we, like many other museums, are facing economic headwinds. We too are worried that our financing will continue to shrink. In Osnabrück we’ve developed various strategies to creatively address this precarious situation. For example, last year we gave up a 200-square-metre exhibition room. We now use it exclusively for our art education programme, which had no room before. The artist Julia Miorin teamed up with residents of the city to create a multigenerational venue for creative processes. That’s where my colleague Christel Schulte works with many school classes, our art educators organise workshops, and our curator for public programming, Jasmin Osmanović, holds readings and lectures. We also allow civic groups to hold their own events in the room. By cooperating with others, we’re building a self-reinforcing network within the city. At the same time, it also allows us to channel more resources to our other exhibitions.

Our work with the urban community has presented us with some exciting questions: Who has displayed works here before? Who hasn’t? Which smaller groups and partnerships do we allow into our museum? What ideas do they have about using ‘our’ space? In the current – not only economic, but also political – situation, we are increasingly being presented with questions concerning solidarity and cohesion. Partnering with a variety of cultural stakeholders from different disciplines, not just art but also science, social culture, environmental education – these are the things that will help prop us up in the coming years.

Conveying knowledge and learning from one another is certainly an aspect – that’s also what I meant by tolerating aesthetic differences. A second aspect concerns the local context. Osnabrück is a medium-sized city with a very committed and diverse public. I would describe us as a multigenerational house. Our challenge is to actively engage with the public – which also has added political value for our house. Over the past years, we’ve developed a number of projects that focused on us and our role. For example, what kind of participation processes are we capable of carrying out – and which ones, maybe not? On the occasion of our 30th anniversary in 2023, we granted 30 cultural stakeholders a carte blanche. They came up with programmes that I myself might not have curated – from small exhibitions to pub quizzes and cooking events. As a curator, every so often I had to question my own strong opinions, my preconceptions. Choosing not to avoid this exchange and tolerating aesthetic differences, I believe, is socially extremely valuable. And ultimately, it enriches our work.

Our curatorial practice always alternates between opening to society and protecting artistic autonomy. We work with annual themes, that is, we set a main theme for one year, with which we can generate widespread interest. They’re mostly intentionally broad terms, like ‘disappointment’, ‘romance’ or ‘spirits’. These annual themes should be suited to art education, exhibition curation, artists and visitors alike. The topic should arouse curiosity – even if the public isn’t yet familiar with the individual pieces. In the exhibitions, the artistic works then stand for themselves – for us, artistic freedom and the autonomy of the artists are inviolable. Our task as an institution is to give explanation to the selected artworks. This involves a learning process, to engage with something that you might not understand at first. In our fast-paced, consumption-oriented society, many people are unaccustomed to doing this. A part of our long-term educational mission is to introduce children, young people and also adults to socially relevant values through art, and in so doing, teach them to engage openly with one another. Sometimes this work only starts reaping rewards years later.

The crux of the matter is that the money isn’t growing, but the pressure to deliver is. That is an imbalance. Nonetheless it remains our task to stay in dialogue and perform the balancing act between our aim to safeguarding artistic autonomy and being a place that people enjoy visiting. To achieve this, we need new artistic works just as much as we need champagne receptions for exhibition openings, for example. The latter, in our opinion, is a profitable investment. Such receptions have been cut everywhere, but we’ve reintroduced them. One can’t forget that the public has a desire for established rituals and wants us to honour them.

Even during my time at art college, the prospect that only the top two percent of students could expect to earn a living with art hung like the sword of Damocles over us. But what does the other 98 percent end up doing? How does one make ends meet as an artist with a hybrid identity? Selling their work in an art gallery is just one option. For our part, we work with ‘commissioned artists’, for example, who develop exhibitions based on curatorial concepts, art projects in public space or at construction sites. Other artists work as caregivers or educators. But these different identities that an artist can have are rarely talked about – neither in the museums nor by the artists. There’s a sense of shame that permeates the whole field. That’s why talking about these intersecting identities would be so valuable. If we see contemporary art as a reflection of society, then it’s also important to make all areas of life visible. When we talk about classism in art discourse, we also have to discuss the precarious realities of the artist’s life. And this discussion should naturally be more than a symbolic one.