History of Art Equality, Diversity and Inclusion Student Journalists, 2024-25

Contents:

• Profile: Danielle Martynkina
• Talking portraits:Review of Anessa Dawoojee’s March of the Hummingbirds at the Saatchi Gallery
• Interview with Jacob Badcock on Agbogbloshie
• Activism, Art Performance and Social Change
• Profile: Mayuko Yamaguchi
• Review of Ainu Stories – Virtual Exhibition in Japan House London
• An Interview with Colin Zhongping Mao
• On Whale on Wharf
• Profile: Ariel Yuan
• Interview: Women in the Art field
• Murder Your Darlings: A Review of Peter Hujar’s Eyes Open in the Dark at Raven Row
• The World of Yesterday, Today? - A Review of The Face Magazine Exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery
• Profile: Emily Spargo
• Exhibition Review: Lives Less Ordinary at Two Temple Place
• Getting Started in the Visual Arts: A Toolkit for Working-Class Professionals
• Interview with Dr Brian Castriota: Insights on Conservation, Careers, and EDI

 

Profile: Danielle Martynkina

Hello! My name is Danielle. I am a second year BA history of Art single honours student. 

Born in Russia, I grew up in a small city with a lack of diverse art museums. I compensated with my own practice of art by attending various art schools since early age. After moving to London at thirteen, I found myself greatly influenced by the city’s multicultural art scene, architecture, history, and identity. 

My dual background of a Russian in the UK made me interested in the ideas of continuity, adaptation, and cultural preservation. Especially, in London, as a metropolis that brings together such a great number of beliefs and traditions, I started to see art not as a static canon but an always evolving collaboration. 

Yet, I believe it is very important to identify and note upon those points of cultural exchange in our globalised society, which can allow us to avoid cultural appropriation and let us truly celebrate art as meaningful storytelling. 

Finally, I stand for supporting non-Western icons and aesthetics in art. For a very long time institutions in power have dictated what is recognised as art, who is allowed to create it, and what messages we can share through it. With my work I hope to bring greater attention to gender, racial and national representations in the contemporary artistic field and amplify the voices that have been historically marginalised. 

Talking portraits: Review of Anessa Dawoojee’s March of the Hummingbirds at the Saatchi Gallery

Aneesa Dawoojee’s March of the Hummingbirds is an exploration of resilience, culture, and the interconnectedness of multicultural identities. The exhibition is presented across four series: WGLA (Windrush General Legacy Association), Notting Hill Carnival, In Between the Palm Trees, and the most recent Cutlass and Cane, inviting viewers to gaze through the intimate scenes where stories of family, migration, adaptation, gender, and celebration are told. The works are Dawoojeeis are highly influenced by her mixed background of Trinidadian and Mauritian heritage and her life in South London.

The first section of the exhibition, WGLA focuses on the members of the Windrush Generation Legacy Association, an organization founded in 2019 to honour the contributions of Caribbean people in the UK. Dawoojee’s photographs in this section are very tender, for rather than staging them, the photographer encouraged her subjects to choose their own poses, highlighting her interest in capturing the spirit of individuals who show their resilience and cultural dignity. 

Some portraits, on the other hand, are more informal, with the subjects dressed in their Sunday best, gazing contemplatively into the lens. Close-ups of hands adorned with intricate jewellery further speaks of tradition, identity, and individuality. Each image is accompanied by a name and a carefully written tag that reveals the subject’s story, often highlighting the challenging journeys of immigration by boat and the complexities of building a new life in the UK.

Image: Anessa Dawoojee, ‘Carol’, 2022, presented along the photograph of her parents. Printed on dibond. Courtesy: Saatchi Gallery, London, 2024
 

One memorable photograph features a woman named Carol, placed elegantly on a red sofa. Her vibrant red blouse and confident stare emphasize her strength, while her delicate gold chain, inscribed with her name reveals a private side of her. The accompanying tag reveals her mixed heritage, her grandmother of Hindu origin and her grandfather Presbyterian. Yet, as Carol herself reflects, “At the end of the day, we celebrated, whether it was Eid, Diwali, or Easter.” Another tag nearby also highlight the significance of jewellery in her family. Carol mentions the “bangle legacy,” an Indian tradition of passing down jewellery through generations, symbolizing the continuous bond between women in her lineage.

Image: Anessa Dawoojee, ‘Joan’, 2023, printed on dibond. Courtesy: Saatchi gallery, London, 2024
 

The second section of the exhibition immerses viewers in the vibrant world of the Notting Hill Carnival, capturing the spirit of cultural celebration, identity, and community. Rooted in the traditions of the Trinidadian Carnival the largest and most recognisable carnival of the Caribbean, the Notting Hill Carnival brings together people of various backgrounds. Dawoojee’s photographs in this section depict the glamour, strength, and individuality of the participants as a part of a bigger community. 

This celebration has evolved through the late 18th century as a way to share stories of slavery and emancipation. Nowadays, the carnival acts as a connection for different family generations via shared experience of music, dance, and history. A steelpan - the national instrument of the islands and soca music, becomes a central attribute of the celebration. The décor and costumes further reflect the complex cultural mix of the Caribbean, including influences from indigenous Arawaks, African traditions, and East Indian customs. 

Dawoojee’s series vividly captures this heritage through three striking portraits of women dressed in elaborate costumes in black, orange, and red. These costumes, adorned with lace, glitter, bright fabrics, and feathers, capture the carnival’s festive mood while acknowledge its historical and cultural significance. The simplicity of the dark backdrop places all attention on the subjects, allowing their eye-catching costumes and joyous expressions to be seen. 

Image: Anessa Dawoojee, ‘Notting Hill Carnival’ series, 2023, printed on dibond. Courtesy: Saatchi Gallery, London, 2024
 

While the photographs share a similar setting, Dawoojee varies the staging, angle, and emotion in each portrait, highlighting uniqueness of her subjects’ characters. Some women meet the camera’s gaze with confidence, while others smile shyly. Despite their lack of professional modelling experience, the women evoke pride, embodying the essence of the carnival as a celebration of individuality and community.

At the centre of the exhibition stands Dream Warrior, one of the last works by Lincoln Rahamut, a renowned Trinidadian costume designer known as the ‘King of Sequins.’ Rahamut, who brought this artistry to the UK in the 1970s, revolutionized masquerade traditions with innovative use of materials like metal, fabric, and sequins, creating intricate, story-telling masterpieces. Displayed on a white mannequin on a pedestal, Dream Warrior seems to be levitating. A halo of protruding feathers recalls the Virgin Mary’s crown, while open arms demonstrate intricate details such as crystal flowers, fringe, golden lace, and fur. The costume becomes a symbol of artistry, while also celebrating Rahamut’s great contributions to costume design and Caribbean heritage.

Image: Lincoln Rahamut, ‘Dream Warrior’, 2018, multimedia. Courtesy: Saatchi Gallery, London, 2024
 

Moving on to the next wall the exhibition presents In Between the Palm Trees series of ten striking portraits taken as the result of a collaboration between Aneesa Dawoojee and the A.S.K.I. community centre, inviting its members to select their favourite colours, fabrics, and accessories to create personalised portraits. Some have chosen objects with rather personal meaning, tying in their stories and memories. As a background Dawoojee used a recognisable from her previous works palm print, which is rooted in her heritage; it is inspired by a European style dress adorned with palms her mother had made and worn, which symbolizes the connection between the old and new generations.

One of the most captivating images is of Gloria, dressed in radiant red with a bold red flower adorning her head. She wears a traditional Caribbean jewellery set, including an intricate necklace and earrings. Posed in half-profile, her downcast eyes and thoughtful expression evoke a sense of internal peace. 

Image: Anessa Dawoojee, ‘Gloria’, 2024, printed on dibond. Courtesy: Saatchi gallery, London, 2024
 

Another portrait is of Carole, a woman of Jamaican, Chinese, and European heritage. Carole’s portrait is culturally symbolic, as she holds a small Jamaican ‘toddy bird’ sculpture - a traditional marketplace toy representing her interest in Jamaican wood craftsmanship. In the tag she remembers her first visit to Jamaica at the age of twenty-two, when the toy helped her rediscover the connection to her culture.  

Image: Anessa Dawoojee, ‘Carole’, 2024, printed on dibond. Courtesy: Saatchi gallery, London, 2024
 

The concluding section of the exhibition, Cutlass and Cane becomes rather an exploration of  gender along cultural identity. Dawoojee captures the strength of Indian-Caribbean women, focusing on their relationship with traditional objects and domestic spaces, historically considered the realm of women. Each image portrays women dressed in traditional dress, engaging with household or cultural items. An important theme in Cutlass and Cane is the historical inability of many women to access education, as they were often restricted to domestic responsibilities. Dawoojee reflects on the sacrifices faced by Indian-Caribbean women, highlighting the great role feminism in the modern world.

Central to this section is the photograph of Vanesha, a writer and activist whose gaze immediately draws the viewer’s attention. Seated in an assertive pose, her hands hold a cutlass, a symbol of labour in Caribbean culture, especially for women, who use it for everyday chores and food preparation. The cold steel of the cutlass resting against her bare shoulder contrasts with her richly adorned textiles. Her gaze, filled with determination and authority, challenges traditional perceptions of women as passive. In the accompanying text, Vanesha explains the power of her name, which means ‘creator of destiny’, as she swears to “not accept the world as it stands.” 

Another striking portrait in this series is of Melanie, who holds a towa, a traditional Indian pan used to make roti, chapati, and dosa - all various types of fried dough, alongside a ceramic bottle. The towa, deeply tied to West Indian households, becomes a symbol of cultural heritage and connection. The setting reveals Melanie’s nostalgia for the culinary traditions of her childhood, representing the warmth and care of her mother’s home-cooked meals, a reminder of traditions that often fade with the passing of older generations. Melanie’s reflection (in the accompanying tag) on food, as a connection to her Indian heritage, talk of the tension between preserving cultural identity and living in the modern globalized world. 
 

The March of the Hummingbirds is a beautiful tribute to heritage and identity. By choosing portraiture as her main genre, Dawoojee captures the strength, joy, and complexity of Caribbean and multicultural communities in the UK. With sensitivity and artistic precision, she allows for these stories to be seen, remembered, and valued. Mixing past and present, Dawoojee shows a truly moving exploration of history through the art of portraiture.

Interview with Jacob Badcock on Agbogbloshie

An interview with PhD student, Jacob Badcock, whose research focuses on the ethics of photography in Agbogbloshie, a scrapyard and informal e-waste processing hub located in Accra, Ghana.

What led you to focus on Agbogbloshie and the role of photography in its representation?

Like many researchers, my first exposure to Agbogbloshie came through images by Kevin McAlveney published in The Guardian. Over time, I found myself drawn to the role of art and photography in representing environmental crisis zones and the major influence that these representations have on policy decisions.

Agbogbloshie is often described as the “world’s largest e-waste dump,” but your research suggests that this is a misleading narrative. Can you explain why this is the case and what the reality looks like?

The claim that 40 million tonnes of e-waste are sent to Agbogbloshie each year is simply not true. This figure, widely circulated in media reports, has been debunked by scholars like Josh Lepawsky, who demonstrated that such a volume would be physically impossible given the constraints of shipping container capacities and trade data.

More than merely a “dump,” Agbogbloshie is an active site of resource recovery and informal labour. Workers dismantle and repurpose electronics, extracting valuable metals and materials. While environmental and health concerns are real, the dominant narrative often erases the agency of those working in these spaces, depicting them only as victims rather than as individuals engaged in a complex economic system.

Given the critique of sensationalized imagery of Agbogbloshie by Nyaba Leon Ouedraogo and Pieter Hugo, do you think there is a way for photography to document e-waste without reinforcing narratives of suffering and environmental degradation?

Yes, but it requires a shift away from traditional forms of photojournalism and humanist art photography. Photographer and theorist Allan Sekula’s concept of “anti-photojournalism,” might come in handy here. Sekula is interested in documenting “the lulls, the waiting, and the margins” of events rather than a single, sensational image. 
Rather than relying on individual images as definitive evidence, I am more interested in how images interact with other forms of documentation—testimonials, statistical data, and historical records—to create a three-dimensional image of environmental crisis zones like Agbogbloshie 

Can photography be a valid scientific tool, or is it fundamentally shaped by subjectivity and artistic interpretation?

Photography can certainly be used as a valid scientific tool, but used in this way it must be subject to the diligent aesthetic and ethical scrutiny as when used for purposes of ‘art.’ Ariella Azoulay has taught us that photographs are ‘events’ - they are first and foremost a meeting in time and space between somebody we call a photographer. We can’t ascribe the entirety of an image’s authorship to the person who presses the button on the camera. The ethical implications of using photography in scientific research - especially in contexts where power imbalances exist - must always be carefully considered.

How important do you think is the shift from viewing e-waste as a problem of overconsumption to a problem of overproduction by global industries?

This shift is crucial, and I stand by that. While overconsumption is a legitimate concern, it is largely a by-product of overproduction. Planned obsolescence - where products are designed with a limited lifespan to encourage repeated consumption - is a key driver of this cycle.

The EU has recently introduced policies aimed at curbing these practices by limiting the ability of manufacturers to build in planned obsolescence. By addressing overproduction, we can begin to challenge the systems that generate e-waste in the first place.

You’ve been away on research - what have been the key findings from your latest research?

I have recently attended exhibitions in Venice and Arles that tackled the representation of e-waste. In Venice, Edward Burtynsky’s Photography 3.0 used augmented reality to document Agbogbloshie, while in Arles, Muntaka Chasant, Anas Aremeyaw Anas, and Bénédicte Kurzen presented a more scientific investigation – Ghana: Following our e-waste. 

Both exhibitions attempt to challenge sensationalist narratives of e-waste, focusing instead on a more nuanced understanding of waste economies. These perspectives have influenced my ongoing research into the intersection of media, environmental justice, and representation.

Have you encountered any unexpected challenges or ethical dilemmas while conducting your research?

One of the biggest challenges has been navigating my own positionality as an outsider. Given the long history of Western researchers extracting data from Agbogbloshie’s scrap worker communities, often without meaningful engagement, there is understandable scepticism toward visiting researchers. 

Additionally, the site itself has become increasingly securitised, with police and military interventions complicating research efforts. For ethical reasons, I have chosen to focus primarily on media representations rather than conducting ethnographic fieldwork, as I want to avoid compounding the research fatigue that already exists for workers at Agbogbloshie—particularly in view of its recent demolition.

What’s next for your research? Are there any new directions or case studies you’re considering?

I am exploring two main strands. First, I am interested in colonial photographic archives - particularly the ways that waste, race, and urban space were visually represented in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Second, I am investigating the use of wearable cameras in medical research, specifically in occupational epidemiology, to understand the ethical implications of using photography to track workers’ exposure to toxic environments. This is a new area of research for me.

Image: From the series The Hell of Copper (L’Enfer du Cuivre), by Nyaba Leon Ouedraogo. 2008. Photograph, (Courtesy the artist)

 

Image: From the series The Hell of Copper (L’Enfer du Cuivre), by Nyaba Leon Ouedraogo. 2008. Photograph, (Courtesy the artist)

 

Image: Untitled, Agbogbloshie Market, Accra, Ghana from the series Permanent Error, by Pieter Hugo. 2010. Chromogenic print, (Courtesy the artist)

 

Image: View of the exposition, Edward Burtynsky – Mounds and Voids, (courtesy Vincent Royer OpenUp Studio, Centre culturel canadien)

Activism, Art Performance and Social Change

A few weeks ago, I was lucky enough to attend a colloquium on the role of art history in climate activism, organised by the wonderful PhD students of UCL History of Art Department in collaboration with UCL Anthropocene and the guest professor-writer John-Paul Stonard. The focus, or rather the case study of our discussion was the Just Stop Oil activists who are known for gluing themselves to gallery walls and throwing paint at renowned paintings. What fascinated me wasn’t just the protest itself; it was how closely it resembled an art performance - one that turns destruction into ritual as a plea for attention to environmental issues. It made me wonder about the inherently performative nature of activist campaigns, their use of ritualism and even iconoclasm to mediate their messages. In this short article, I would like to discuss a few examples of activist campaigns by the Guerrilla Girls, the Moscow Collective Actions group and Just Stop Oil, showing how performance became a voice of resistance.

Image 1:  A photo of Just Stop Oil activists throwing paint at Mona Lisa at the Louvre on the 28th of January 2024.

In his book From Ritual to Theatre (1982), British anthropologist Victor Turner explains that many cultural performances arise from the so-called “social drama” - which he states is “our native way of manifesting ourselves to ourselves.” Social dramas mirror social change and unfold in four stages: breach, crisis, redress and schism. Turner argues that performance, or rather performative ritual, can be a crucial tool for challenging and disputing social settlements. Thus, rituals are paradigmatic, they transform by revealing insights into social power structures while generating new symbols and meanings along the way. According to the French ethnographer Arnold van Gennep, ritual exploits liminality, it carries one from a state of certainty into culture’s uncertain “subjunctive” - its wishes and moods, with the mind transforming in the process and being reborn with new certainties.

For example, the conceptual performance ‘the Slogan’ (1977) by Andrei Monastyrsky and Vitaly Komar actively exploited liminal space as a form of resistance. Brought to the snow-covered outskirts of Moscow, a group of about twenty people, most unaware of the plan, hung a ten-meter red banner which read: “I DO NOT COMPLAIN ABOUT ANYTHING AND I ALMOST LIKE IT HERE, ALTHOUGH I HAVE NEVER BEEN HERE BEFORE AND KNOW NOTHING ABOUT THIS PLACE”. The actions silently breached and at the same time exposed the Soviet behavioural codes and power structures through the absurdity of ideological slogans, and consequently mocked the absent minded, state-imposed optimism about life and the future. This work almost gave liminality a physical shell – a snow-covered hill with people who want change, who brought out the ‘subjunctive’, yet are unsure of possible actions, allowing the ritual to dissolve in liminality and uncertainty, without reaching a solid schism.

Image 2: Slogan, 1977, organised by Andrei Monastyrsky and Vitaly Komar, Collective Actions archival photography

The Guerrilla Girls show a rather well-planned social drama. They are a celebrated feminist activist group that have been helping to expose the bleak statistics of gender and race diversity in the art world since the mid-80s. Known for dressing in gorilla masks and plastering damning statistics on museum walls, they called out galleries, museums, art directors and critics. Their masked appearances became repetitive redressive rituals on its own, which read through Judith Butler’s theory of gender as inherently performative suggests that the Guerrilla Girls opened liminality and started the conversation also by ‘breaching’ the prescribed ideas of gender. This is likewise evident in the late 1989 poster logo containing an image of a female nude from Ingres’s Odalisque with a roaring gorilla head along the information on unwavering numbers of female artists and artists of colour. The substitute of a passive gaze of the female model with a gorilla head that actively denied the pleasure of looking, simultaneously breached the old narratives and showed an image that itself was in an act of redress by means of collage. As mentioned before, Turner recognized the ability of rituals to generate new symbols and meanings, a logic that political sociologist Charles Tilly pushed even further. Tilly emphasizes the importance of symbols for a successful performance of a contentious event, stating that colours, costumes, slogans or props need to be  methodically recognised and copied. Regarding the Guerrilla Girls this element is expressed in their anonymity and animal masks that unify their image. In the context of Monastyrsky’s ‘the Slogan’, the red banner can be used as a recognizable Soviet symbol, albeit following Turner’s theory, its original meaning acquires a new interpretation through the performance’s location – becoming a sense-less message of propaganda. 

Image 3: Do Women have to be naked to get into the Met. Museum? 1989, lithograph, The MET

Applying Turner’s theory to Just Stop Oil, the soup-splash itself becomes the breach that disrupts the normative forms of behaviour in museums. It also reveals the various power structures from galleries’ guards and police arresting the activists, and sensational headlines discussing sacred works as irreparably damaged, to oil companies remaining major sponsors of art galleries. With regard to Tilly’s theory of symbolism, Just Stop Oil activists wear recognisable, orange clothing and a skull logo, that along with their mostly consistent targeting of art makes them appear unified and recognisable. What however I found the most interesting about their tactic is the resemblance to iconoclasm – soup splash that essentially restrains the visual side of the work. In his book ‘History of Visuality’, Nicolas Mirzoelt discussed iconoclasm performed by the Protestant missionaries across the Pacific countries. The destruction of the indigenous visual field helped the imperial power to be seen as uncontested, showcasing that control of sight is a form of power. Likewise, Just Stop Oil are employing this notion by covering paintings with paint and commanding viewers to look and listen to them instead. Therefore, it is the “iconoclastic” ritual that helps them to “breach” the system and start the conversation.

Overall, activist performances aim to rupture the everyday, suspend themselves and the audience in liminality, and manifest new symbols. Turner’s four-stage system was not a simple instruction for a coup but a theory that showed the unavoidable universal ways societies adapt to new conditions by responding to people’s wishes, beliefs and demands. Be that in a gallery, on a billboard, or in the middle of a snowy hill, Just Stop Oil, the Guerrilla Girls, and Monastyrsky all aim to reorder power through performance, proving that change lies within society. 

Mayuko Yamaguchi

I first encountered art history at the age of 10, on reading Inferno by Dan Brown. I was fascinated by the symbolism of the paintings and how we can communicate through artworks beyond time and space. Ever since, art has always been at the centre of my interest. Through studying philosophy and history of art, I became particularly interested in the importance of comprehension and sharing of the cultural distinctions inherent in visual culture, along with their interpretations. Having Japanese heritage while living in the UK made me want to explore the relativity of differing perceptions, shaped by artwork and imagery more. 

I hope, as a student journalist, I can share the relative and subjective nature of visual experiences, especially in the cultural field. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Review of Ainu Stories – Virtual Exhibition from Japan House London

The Ainu are indigenous people of northern Japan who have their own language (Ainu language), traditional customs, and distinct culture. After opening the country, the Japanese government sent military settler colonists (tondenhei) to northern Japan as they realised the need for the development and defence in the northern frontier, endorsing assimilation policy against the indigenous Ainu people. Since then, their traditions have long been marginalised, so much so, that the Ainu language became classified as Critically Endangered by the UNESCO.

By sharing their stories and culture, this exhibition, Ainu Stories, played a pivotal role in fostering greater understanding and increasing awareness in equity and inclusion for minorities who were often overlooked in mainstream historical narratives. Although the original exhibition ended in 2024, the virtual exhibition is still available on the Japan House London webpage.

The exhibition emphasises the influence of traditional Ainu in modern society in terms of their culture; “endangered language; society and the preservation of the environment; textiles, songs and dance; and woodcarving and tourism” (cited in the Japan House virtual exhibition webpage). 

One of the most powerful elements of the exhibition is its focus on their patterns which can be seen in textiles and woodwork. Each design element, passed down through generations, highlights the Ainu’s deep connection to the natural world and their spiritual beliefs. Whilst there are traditional basic pattern forms, craftspeople from Ainu bring in new ideas and expands their original patterns, making each pattern contemporary and alive yet showing respect to their ancestors. 

Figure 1: Kaizawa Tōru, Identity 2023 Iron Will, 2023, katsura wood (cercidiphylum japonicum), Nibutani, a screenshot from the virtual exhibition

The woodcarver of this piece is a model of a character, Kiroranke, from Noda Satoru’s manga, Golden Kamuy, which depicts the life of the Ainu in the aftermath of the Russo-Japanese War (1904-05). The manga series not only have a large circulation that exceed 29 million but also won the Social Impact Award at Japan Media Arts Festival (2021) and the Grand Prize of the Japan Cartoonists Association Awards (2022). The manga is featured in Ainu Stories, too, bringing Ainu into contemporary pop culture. 

Figure 2: Screenshot of the front cover of Noda Satoru, Golden Kamuy vol 1, from Amazon
 

As I navigated through the exhibition, I was struck by the videos filming interviews of people who have been trying to preserve, pass on, and expand Ainu culture.  Their stories reflect the resilience of the Ainu community while underline the importance of cultural, environmental preservation and the intergenerational knowledge transfer. They underscore the challenges and successes faced by the interviewees, reminding us of the vital role of individuals in keeping cultural legacies alive. 

 

Figure 3: Screenshot from the virtual exhibition, an interview video of Nagano Tamaki
 

The Ainu people have faced centuries of cultural suppression and discrimination. While the Japanese government officially recognised the Ainu as an indigenous people only in 2008, the exhibition allows for raising wider awareness and nuanced understanding of their rich heritage and contemporary struggles. The fact that Japan House published the exhibition in digital format after the original made their history more accessible to the wider audience, as well as highlighted the importance of equity in the representation of indigenous cultures. this exhibition encourages us all to consider how we can contribute to recognise and respect cultures for their invaluable contributions to our modern society.

An Interview with Colin Zhongping Mao

Mayuko sat down to discuss all things Art History with Colin Zhongping Mao, a current PhD candidate at UCL, whose research delves into the evolution of Chinese Socialist Realism. Colin holds a BA in History of Art, Materials and Technology from UCL and an MA in History of Art from the Courtauld Institute of Art.

Could you briefly explain your career path?

Following my graduation from UCL, I spent a short period in the hospitality sector as I wanted to take some time away from the art world. As an international student, I enjoyed the chance to converse with a wide range of people and found the experience both instructive and rewarding. I then joined the Courtauld Research Forum during my MA there and UCL’s Institute of Advanced Studies, where I helped to organise academic and speaker events. During the last academic term I contributed to several initiatives, one of which centred on Equality, Diversity and Inclusion (EDI).

Oh, what a coincidence. What kind of thing did you do for that?

The EDI project was a pilot scheme designed to support students from socially or racially under-represented backgrounds. Each participant was paired with one of us to review past assignments and the accompanying feedback, so we could devise practical strategies for improvement. Essentially, we offered additional academic mentorship over the vacation period.

You mentioned you worked in hospitality for a bit. Was it something related to art history?

Not directly. In the first restaurant I served simply as a waiter, although the restaurant itself was founded by fine arts graduates and leant heavily into the art world. I deliberately stepped outside the art-world bubble to engage in something more hands-on. I’m glad I did - customer-service skills translate well into almost any professional context.

Why did you become interested in art history?

It really started at home. I grew up in one of those households where half the family is in the studio and the other half is in the library, so talks about paintings and theatre just seemed natural. Over time I realised I was less drawn to making art than to analysing and discussing it. When I saw art-history courses in high school, I thought, ‘This is exactly what I’ve been looking for.’

Have you considered anything apart from art history as your career path?

While working in hospitality I scarcely considered a doctorate; I thought, ‘Let me try this first - perhaps it could become a career.’ In retrospect, the sector can be unforgiving, and art history resonates more deeply with me. I briefly contemplated consulting or galleries - many art-history graduates go that way - but I decided I would prefer art history over the art market. Whether in the market or in academia, as long as I remain within that ecosystem, I’m content, even if the remuneration is modest.

After graduating from UCL, you went to the Courtauld to do your master’s. Is there any reason you decided to come back to UCL for your PhD?

My undergraduate years at UCL were really formative, and I developed a strong and friendly relationship with my eventual supervisor, who encouraged me in my third year to consider doctoral study. At that stage I was not ready, so I pursued an MA at the Courtauld. And I think UCL encourages one to take a master’s elsewhere to broaden one’s perspective before committing a PhD, and the Courtauld - smaller and more focused - offered a module on Global China that matched my interests precisely. After completing the degree, I was drawn back to UCL: its extensive resources, generous funding opportunities and intellectually vibrant environment best support my project.

Could you tell me more about your PhD thesis?

Yeah, of course. My project, well if nothing changes, asks what becomes of Chinese socialist realism once we follow it off the canvas and propaganda posters that one often associates with the style (Take, for example, the familiar lithographs of crimson-clad workers brandishing Mao’s Little Red Book in Figure.1) and into time-based media - film, video, performance, and large-scale durational painting - between the first wave of reform in 1979 and the digital turn of the 2010s. I treat post-Mao socialist realism less as a discarded style than as a mutable visual grammar that artists continually re-code. 

Four intersecting lines organise the study. First, I look at state art academies such as CAFA and SFAI and how they have influenced the style and medium of CSR. Second, I examine the tactics individual artists deploy to stretch or parody orthodox imagery: Zhang Peili’s video loops, Cai Guo-Qiang’s gun-powder spectacles, and Liu Xiaodong’s on-site painting performances all re-animate Mao-era monumentalism in durational form. Third, I read these works across sites - from Chongqing studios to the Venice Biennale - to show how local socialist legacies are refracted through global exhibition circuits. Finally, I revisit the question of realism itself: when the artwork unfolds in real time, does it still fulfil the socialist brief of depicting ‘life in its revolutionary development,’ or does it expose that brief as historically contingent?

Methodologically the project draws on post-Marxist theories of hegemony and Subaltern studies, media archaeology, and alternative modernities and global art studies. The aim is not to declare socialist realism dead, but to chart its successive mutations - how a propaganda poster’s crimson palette resurfaces in a contemporary oil painting project, or how the collectivist rhetoric of Mao-era model opera echoes in participatory performance art. By reconstructing this genealogy, I hope to argue that socialist realism persists as a flexible cultural code, one that continues to shape (and be reshaped by) contemporary Chinese art long after the red banners came down.

[Figure 1: unknown artist, ‘Long life to Chairman Mao: cheerful crowds of people holding Mao’s Red Book in Tiananmen square’, 1971, colour lithograph in paper, 768 x 1060 mm, Victoria and Albert Museum, London.]

That sounds interesting. Is there any reason you chose to study modern Chinese art in the UK?

My decision to apply to UCL was less about geography than intellectual and theoretical resources. Art history and interdisciplinary studies within the department and overall, at UCL is remarkably robust, providing the conceptual toolkit I require. Interestingly, when I first applied, no one in the department focused explicitly on Chinese art until a month before I formally started when Amanda Ju joined, yet the theoretical orientation nonetheless aligned perfectly with my thesis. 

Any words to history of art students at UCL?

Do not be intimidated or discouraged by occasional setbacks. A disappointing mark in one - or even two - assignments is not the end of the world. I slept through many first-year lectures and once misspelled an artist’s name in a second-year essay (would not recommend that, and I would strongly suggest proofreading your essay before submission), yet here I am pursuing a research degree with a Distinction at master’s level. Use those experiences to refine your approaches. Above all, attend Office Hours and talk to your tutors; as a teaching assistant I’m constantly surprised by how many students need help but never appear. Your lecturers and everyone in the department genuinely want to support you - take advantage of that.
 

Thank you Colin for sharing your time and perspective - it was a privilege to learn more about your research and its wider significance.

On Whale on Wharf

Just a minute’s walk from Canary Wharf station on the Jubilee Line, you’ll encounter a striking sight - a magnificent whale caught mid-breach. At first glance, it appears to be a mosaic sculpture. But step closer, and you’ll notice something more unsettling: the whale is constructed entirely from everyday plastic products.

According to UNESCO’s Ocean Literacy Programme, an estimated 8–12 million tons of plastic waste enter the ocean each year, accounting for 80% of all marine pollution. Most of us are familiar with this crisis - images like a sea turtle suffocating on a plastic straw have become grim symbols of our impact on marine life.

Artists Jason Klimoski and Lesley Chang created this sculpture using plastic debris collected from beaches in Hawaii. Through this powerful piece, they aim to confront viewers with the scale of ocean pollution and provoke reflection on our own roles in it.

“A whale is the largest mammal in the water and it felt like the right form to take in order to show the scope and scale of the problem; Whale on the Wharf is a physical example of why we need to change how we use and dispose of plastic in the world today.”

- Jason Klimoski and Lesley Chang (StudioKCA)

Figure 1: Jason Klimoski and Lesley Chang (StudioKCA), Whale on the Wharf, 2025. Photo by the author.

What struck me most was the sheer number of items bearing Japanese writing. Even with just a quick glance, I could count at least ten storage baskets. A sense of shame welled up in me – before I found one plastic container labelled with the name of a place “石巻 (Ishinomaki)”.

Figure 2: Close up image of a fishing basket with Japanese 石巻魚市場 (Ishinomaki fish market)  in Whale on the Wharf. Photo by the author.

石巻 (Ishinomaki) is one of the places that was most severely impacted by the 2011 Tohoku Earthquake and Tsunami. An area of 73 square kilometres in the town was submerged, claiming the lives of 2,038 people, with 377 still missing in the aftermath of the devastating floods.

 

Figure 3: Ishinomaki on 11th March, 2011. From the Gurdian, The school beneath the wave: the unimaginable tragedy of Japan’s Tsunami.

Of course, it does not necessarily mean that the container was swept away by the wave in 2011, and it does not erase the fact that Japan produces a lot of plastic waste. In fact, we produced approximately 37kg per capita in 2019, the 18th highest in the world. The world, including Japan, should be aware of this serious maritime pollution and try to decrease the amount of plastic waste. 

However, given that this sculpture addresses environmental issues, shouldn’t there be greater awareness around the possibility that it might incorporate debris from a disaster? And if so, shouldn’t the audience be clearly informed? For viewers who don’t read Japanese or who haven’t studied the 2011 earthquake and tsunami, there’s little to no indication that such materials might be embedded in the work.

If the plastic box in question did originate from the 2011 tsunami, its inclusion is especially problematic. Objects from that context carry deep emotional and historical weight. Using them in an unrelated artwork - particularly without explanation - risks appearing indifferent to the trauma experienced by those affected. It may unintentionally cause harm, and until there is clarity on the object’s origin, the potential for misinterpretation and distress remains.

As an EDI journalist, I wanted to highlight this artwork as a compelling example of why diversity, equality, and inclusion are essential - not only in the creation of art, but also in its interpretation. The use of sensitive materials, such as those found in Whale on the Wharf, is a reminder that incorporating found objects can unintentionally carry harmful messages. 

Regardless of the artist’s intent, the inclusion of such elements can overshadow the work’s meaning. Embracing EDI principles and incorporating diverse perspectives can help prevent these oversights, ultimately enabling art to communicate more powerfully and responsibly to a broader audience.

The artwork is still on the display at the corner of Water Street and Park Drive in Canary Wharf. Why not go whale watching this summer and take the opportunity to reflect on how materials shape artworks that carry powerful political messages?
 

Bibliography 

• 2011 MEMORY EVER-DAISHINSAI. 石巻を襲った大津波の証言・その１.   
• Parry, Richard Lloyd (2017). The school beneath the wave: the unimaginable tragedy of Japan’s Tsunami. The Guardian.
• Lu, Marcus (2024). Ranked: Top 20 Countries by Plastic Waste per Capita. Visual Capitalist.
• Canary Wharf Group (2025). Whale on the Wharf: Colossal sculpture arrives in Canary Wharf to spotlight ocean plastic crisis - 10.4.25 - Canary Wharf Group. 

Profile: Ariel Yuan 

Hi, I’m Ariel, a History of Art student with a subsidiary focus in Philosophy. Prior to UCL, I was studying in Singapore and planning to take a broader course like Liberal Arts or focusing on English Literature. However, I realised in time that this was due to my own biases towards the History of Art subject, instead of my lack of interest, and I am really happy to have chosen this path. As an EDI journalist, I really want to work on demystifying the subject for others and make it more accessible and approachable to those with an interest in art. 

As the current co-president of the History of Art Society, I also want to be wary of my actions, and through exploring exhibitions and interacting with more experienced students through an EDI lens, I can work on making events and the society itself a more inclusive and aware space. 

I am very interested in gender and the power identities women are often relegated to in society, as a woman myself and doing similar work in both previous and present studies. For example, in high school I worked on a feminist reading of William Holman Hunt’s The Awakening Conscience for a public speaking competition, and wrote my thesis on the presentation of femininity in Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald’s books. At UCL, I investigated the ethics of pornography, and Aristotle’s presentation of women, as well as various Art history topics in relation to gender. I hope to further explore my interest in this area through my EDI journalism. 

As an international student from a previously colonised nation, I also want to destabilise Whiggish readings of history and art history and decentre artists working within the canon. I will do this by focusing more on non-western artists or artists that specifically challenge the conventional or colonial perspective.

Interview: Women in the Art field

There seems to be a contradiction in the lack of representation of women in the artistic cannon and higher positions in artistic institutions, compared to the overwhelmingly female demographic in artistic education, perhaps due to the idea of art as a “feminine practice”. I wanted to explore how women’s academic careers were affected by this, and I was lucky enough to get an interview with a PhD student whose dissertation focus was also on the gendered associations of certain disciplines, specifically textiles. In this interview, Aoife Stables, an accomplished art history student with both museum and research experience and many academic accolades, gives us her account and first-hand experience of the gendered structures of art history.

Why have you chosen this topic as your PhD thesis?

My topic is about women and textiles in 15th Century Spain. I have always been interested in the connection between women and textiles. Sewing and weaving are historically associated with women, but I question to what degree textiles are feminine or gendered. This entails looking at how gendered textiles are, and how people in the 15th century gendered textiles. There was significant writing in the 15th century about appropriate activities for women, linking embroidery and mending to the Virgin Mary. I am examining both the historical reality and modern perceptions of these gendered associations.

Textiles are often associated with femininity. Do they also imply passivity? How does this contrast with Isabella of Castile’s rule?

Embroidery involves silence, being bent over your work, thus you are not vocal or present in a traditionally masculine way, which benefits patriarchal structures. Isabel of Castile balanced being a “good woman” with and being a “good ruler” which entails embodying masculine ideals of power. My research has shifted to the textile industry in Valencia, but similar themes remain.

Is there a similar pressure, to be both a “good woman” and “good ruler” on women in academia?

In art history, my experience as a student was mostly among women or those questioning gender identities. However, as you progress in academia, patriarchal ideas become more noticeable. I have noticed that in group projects, women often handle administrative burdens while men focus on having the big ideas. I’ve heard from others that this dynamic continues into departments, where women must manage these tasks while avoiding being labelled as bossy.

Has this been a major obstacle for you?

Not in my early academic career, but these issues become more apparent at higher levels. My undergraduate and master’s experiences were largely surrounded by women.

Is art history as a discipline gendered?

Unfortunately, yes. It has an overwhelmingly female student base, but senior positions are dominated by men. Art history suffers from the perception that it’s not a serious subject, focusing on aesthetics rather than contributing to society. However, my PhD cohort has more men than I’ve previously encountered, so it’s certainly not a black and white picture. Like textiles, there are gendered associations with this discipline, whether it’s accurate or not.

Will the gender imbalance shift in the future?

It’s hard to say. Even if women reach senior positions, it doesn’t necessarily mean that all the problems of the subject will go away. Advancement is often about connections and privilege as much as qualifications. Though, I definitely hope so.

Have you found gaps in historical narratives due to male-dominated scholarship?

Yes. In 15th-century art history, gender has rarely been a lens of analysis. Traditional scholarship focused on attribution and connoisseurship, side-lining social themes like gender, piety, race and devotion. Women’s contributions were also often overlooked, making archival research challenging.

Because of the rarity of women in the artistic canon, are women that were included depicted in overly hagiographic ways?

Yes, due to limited archival exploration. The “exceptional woman” narrative arises because historians haven’t fully documented women’s participation in art production. Simply inserting some women into a male-dominated canon is insufficient, and the implication that they have transcended their “womaness” to be as good as men is problematic.

Were you influenced by external pressures to pursue a PhD?

No, it was my decision. Many people in my life don’t see a PhD in art history as a path to success. However, confidence gaps between genders might affect education choices. I certainly am hesitant to talk about something that I feel I don’t have all of the facts on or personal experience in, which might not be something men tend to feel, so I wonder if that has been a factor in my own education journey or for other women.

Has your multilingual ability benefited your career?

Yes, it’s helpful for reading diverse sources and was useful in my time working in museums. But language acquisition requires privilege—time and resources. I was able to study in Florence, and I did an Erasmus year in France, I’ve been very fortunate to have those experiences, but it might not always be easy for other people. Accessibility is definitely an issue.

Is art history exclusive to privileged backgrounds?

Yes. Museum-goers and art history students are often middle- or upper-class. The lack of high-paying jobs also means many may rely on financial support. My parents helped me financially to live in London while I applied for jobs, and I was able to devote almost all of my time to honing my applications, which helped me immensely. But I recognise that it might not be an option for everyone.

Is art history framed as a luxury? Should changes be made?

The arts and humanities are undervalued and underfunded. Speaking from my experiences working in London, museums are aiming to engage broader audiences, as seen with exhibitions like Harry Kane’s, proposed by a staff member from a working-class background. Progress is happening, but more work is needed.

Any advice for students pursuing a PhD in art history?

Take time between your master’s and PhD. Gaining work experience helped me refine my research interests. PhD funding is competitive, so enhancing your application through languages or extracurriculars can help. Higher education is not a direct path—explore opportunities and develop your approach thoughtfully.

Murder Your Darlings: A Review of Peter Hujar’s Eyes Open in the Dark at Raven Row

TW: Pictures of dead animals and people, discussions of death, transphobia and homophobia

“Photography converts the whole world into a cemetery.” writes Susan Sontag. This line followed Peter Hujar from life to death, from its original appearance in his 1976 book Portraits of Life and Death (the only book of Hujar’s photographs published in his lifetime), to being referenced in articles about him and included in contemporary exhibition catalogues. Whether this is convincing or not as a case for all photographers, Hujar was indeed practised at walking the line between “connoisseur of beauty” and “recording-angel of death”.

This dichotomy of the two faces of the camera is somehow coalesced and made especially apparent in the new exhibition of Hujar’s at Raven Row, which tried to fully capture the tragic beauty of his photography. At a time where the AIDS crisis was killing, directly and indirectly, people Hujar cared about, or within his community, his photographs serve as a visual manifestation of Faulkner’s “murder your darlings” where Hujar unwittingly becomes an angel of death, and the camera becomes the pen that writes a devastatingly real story.

In the heart of Spitalfields lies a former artillery testing site, where Raven Row is situated. The White Cube-like walls are juxtaposed with the worn wood and cement floors and the burnt wood skylights that hint at the building’s history – almost devoured by a fire in 1972. A perfect backdrop for the beautiful but dark themes of the monochrome portraits. The exhibition can be divided in two main parts: the weaving of Hujar’s works throughout the Rococo style upper levels’ rooms, the more condensed display of his photographs on the newer semi-basement floor.

Though the collection consists of portrait photography, architecture, scenes of street life, nature; what stood out the most to me was the photographs featuring death as a prominent theme. Pictures of people lying in hospital beds and coffins, and the decaying corpses of animals were treated so gracefully by Hujar that they carried not the usual grotesque or nauseating effect but rather a melancholic beauty. Particularly, Dead Gull reanimates the dead by posing the bird as if it were about to take flight. The desolate background evokes a bleakness and hopelessness, as the bird, neck still craned towards the sky, seems to yearn for the sun even in death.

Image: Peter Hujar, Dead Gull, 1985, gelatin silver print. Copyright Estate of Peter Hujar. Courtesy of the Peter Hujar Archive and Foundation 

Perhaps his most famous works are those of the transgender actress Candy Darling on her deathbed. One of Andy Warhol’s superstars, starring in Tennessee Williams’ play, the muse behind songs by successful bands and singers (Rolling Stones, Velvet Underground, Lou Reed), a friend of Oscar winning actors and actresses, she was the darling (in more ways than one) of the New York counterculture art scene. Her biographer, Cynthia Carr argues that despite her apolitical stance, her insistence at being acknowledged as a real woman challenged in an unprecedented way the era’s binary conception of gender, in a time where trans people were not accepted in either gay or women’s rights movements. Though she enjoyed some fame, her connection to the Hollywood world was always tenuous, being denied full entry. Despite her appearances in Warhol’s films, she continuously struggled with poverty.

Hujar’s photographs of her dying (from leukaemia or lymphoma, sources vary) at the age of 29 epitomises her status as the “glamourous (but) impoverished” “street queen”, with the dying Darling lounging, enfolded in white linens, in carefully applied makeup. The scene is carefully posed, and Darling in a note to Hujar emphasised that “fans will feel cheated if they didn’t get to see what I looked like on the hospital bed.” In this way, the photograph acts similarly to a roman à clef, aestheticizing and mythologising the tragedy of Candy Darling’s death. This is further afforded by other photos in this series, which show the lack of machinery and the de-sterilization of the hospital room with clutter and flowers in full bloom surrounding the dying actress. In this close-up photo, Hujar succinctly captures the actress’s pain, her unfocused gaze creating a sense of profound sadness, a rose cut down before being allowed to flourish, whilst still maintaining the beauty and glamour of a flower in bloom. In an interview in Warhol’s film Women in Revolt, in which she starred, Candy says “at the end of the film I’m murdered, I think”, and I cannot disagree.

Image: Peter Hujar, Candy Darling on her Deathbed (II) 1973, gelatin silver print. Copyright Estate of Peter Hujar, Courtesy of the Peter Hujar Archive and Foundation

Hujar’s work was only posthumously recognised in the canon of photography, despite his talent and lasting influence. This exhibition, curated by his friend and printer Gary Schneider and biographer John Douglas Miller, feels deeply personal, like a tribute to his person, rather than him as an artist. As such, works of other artists depicting Hujar are shown. Most significantly, David Wojnarowicz, Hujar’s long-time friend and former lover, was able to capture haunting photographs of Hujar himself, after death. It’s poetic how closely these photos seem to echo those of Candy Darling, both wrapped Cabrini Medical Centre’s white sheets, dying, dead. Hujar’s gaunt face shows a level of vulnerability that the Candy portraits lack however, and the careful composition of face, hand and feet is emotionally expressive, evoking not pathos but contemplation in viewers. Hujar is shown on the verge of life: his last breath still lingering at his open mouth, his hand almost grasping the linens, his toes about to twitch. In this way, these photos seem to situate death closer to the frame, where it becomes almost tangible, familiar. Wojnarowicz tender treatment and framing of Hujar likens death to reverie, where aesthetic beauty is evident, not in an exploitative way, but as a simulation of his grief.

Image: David Wojnarowicz, Untitled, 1987, 3 pigmented ink prints. Copyright Estate of David Wojnarowicz, Courtesy of the Estate of David Wojnarowicz and P·P·O·W, New York.

Image: Peter Hujar, John Heys, 1979, gelatin silver print. Copyright Estate of Peter Hujar, Courtesy of the Peter Hujar Archive and Foundation.

I’d like to end this review with this seemingly simple photograph of John Heys. Though not as dynamic as the other photographs that surrounds it in the gallery, this portrait is no less stimulating. A passionate activist for LGBTQ+ rights, Heys poses in a feathered headdress, black tights, and a pair of stiletto heels. A person who doesn’t conform to the societal ideals of heteronormativity, and thus discriminated against and side-lined in conventional society, dressing the part of a modern Madame X, inviting the audience’s gaze and challenging traditional desire. However, despite the lavish headpiece and provocative garments, the focus is on Heys’ face. His lips twitch upwards in a smile, reminiscent of the Mona Lisa, changing from genuine to sardonic each time you blink. His pose is dramatic, but his jaw is set and his eyes downward cast. He looks simultaneously defiant and sad. In a myriad of ways, this portrait is contradictory, but Hujar imbricates these thematic and identity differences to create beauty, new and unrestrained. This exhibition captures a rising from the ashes, literally (1972 fire) and figuratively. In renewing interest in Hujar and the darlings we’ve murdered, we have temporarily brought them back to life.

Sources and Further Reading

• Raven Row
• The Guardian - Peter Hujar
• Dezeen
• The Guardian - Raven Row Review
• Yiara Magazine
• Another Mag
• Clare Teresa Blog
• The Paris Review Blog

 

The World of Yesterday, Today? - A Review of The Face Magazine Exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery

In Stephan Zweig’s memoir, The World of Yesterday, he likens 19th century hopes for progress as possessing the “force of a religion” and laments the wars’ swift destruction of that faith. We can apply this idea to our metamodern world as well, where fear of the loss of culture persists, with the prominence of AI, and an increasingly conservative consumer base, evidenced by the rise of trad wives and red pill young men. “Are we on the path to cultural decline?” Seems to be the question on everyone’s mind.

The Face Magazine seems to represent the antithesis of our diminishing ardour, with its bold photographs and articles embodying the passionate zeitgeist of the 80s, 90s and even that of the early 2000s.

Started by Nick Logan in 1980, the magazine not only captured but defined youth culture in a curated and novel way, truly changing culture. After ceasing publication in 2004 for more than a decade, The Face relaunched in 2019. However, in our time of uncertainty, is The Face Magazine simply a relic of a bygone era? Or does its return signify a renewed cultural optimism?

The recent exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery seeks to answer that question, by creating a visual timeline of the most notable issues and photographs to come out of The Face.

Stepping into the gallery, you are immediately greeted with a blown-up and full body version of the March 1985 Hard cover shot, of 12-year-old Felix Howard, by Jamie Morgan. The effect is halting, the baby face of the young model illuminated on a dark wall, scrunched in concentration, framed by a black fedora and high collar suit. He looks the part of a gangster or mafia boss, and the newspaper clipping on his hat “Killer” furthers this narrative. The portrait is almost painterly, in its chiaroscuro and rendering.

As you make your way further into the gallery, the unique aesthetic and visual language of The Face becomes more apparent. Jamie Morgan’s play on words and gender binaries “Men’s where? (Men in Skirts)” not only showed an “irreverence to established codes of masculinity” but spurred a new trend for club goers and alternative street fashion.

The Face Magazine was also not afraid to turn heads and discuss the uncomfortable. The controversial topics covered by the magazine, for example articles like the 1988 Burchill on Thatcher, and the 1987 Aids: Face the Virus where untouched topics for magazines at the time, all dealt with a level of nuance and sensitivity revolutionary for the 80s and 90s.

Traversing your way through the long hall (positioned after the rooms on the 80s), feels almost like stepping into a time tunnel, the constructivist style logos of Neville Brody, the Buffalo stylings of Ray Petri morph into the iconic red logo brought on by Phil Bicker and Corrine Day’s photos that felt real, raw, and unpolished.

Once you emerge from the 80s, accompanied by the retro-futuristic photographs of Stephane Sednaoui and fashion editor Babeth Dijan, the start of the 90s welcomed you in the form of colourful lighting, music, and walls covered in photographs spanning the 80s to 2000s of the evolution of the club and rave scene.

The Face’s understanding youth culture were almost prophetic, predicting music, cool new clubs, and changing their approach constantly to stay ahead of the trend. With the direction of Sheryl Garratt, The Face became more alternative to reflect the rise of acid house and the popularity of raving.

The 1990 The Right to Party magazine cover broke conventions and epitomized this new direction, the “reductionist” graphics of O’Connor’s shaved head, brows and eyelashes, promoting and highlighting the rise and rebellion of the free party scene against the establishment.

In the 90s and 2000s, bright walls – red, purple, pink, blue – backdropped the equally colourful (in more ways than one) photographs.

Stylists and editors of this time put emphasis on expanding the boundaries of beauty promoted in magazines. Mitzi Lorenz, in particular, stated that she wanted to “give (black girls) a platform” and focused on “celebrating black and mixed-raced beauty and glamorising it in a stylish way”.

The magazine was also taking a lot of creative risks, with sci-fi inspired scenes, and a gothic revival in photographs like Killer McQueen, Taste of Arsenic and The Pilgrims, the latter of which featured a breastfeeding mother, in a posture similar to depictions of the Virgin Mary, dressed in blue chainette fringe. Apocalyptic imagery was also a popular backdrop for surreal compositions that utilized the new technologies available with the digital age. The 1994 Bad Boy Memory photograph of models in masks against a wasteland scene not only utilised photoshop to saturate the colours, but the visual effect itself is digital, reminiscent of an early computer game in the same way that Alex Colville’s shadowless, semi-realistic paintings do.

Compared to these, the current decades’, despite being great photographs, seem almost too safe. Demonstrated by the small, slightly sad corner they are relegated to in the exhibition. Though I understand the gallery’s emphasis on past work and the so-called “golden age” of the magazine, it would have been nice to have seen a wider selection of photos that are more representative of our generation.

As the Face’s new editor in chief Matthew Whitehouse states:

“THE FACE should be a moment in time. A container of ideas. Something to grasp. Something to hold. Youth culture in its most potent form.”

The Face has always been ahead of the curve, though featuring many celebrities, it also made the careers of many. As photographer Janette Beckman said, it wasn’t just a fashion magazine, it was “about what was happening on the streets… where culture begins. By including only seven contemporary works, that are of already well-established artists and celebrities, I wonder if the National Portrait Gallery has adorned Zweig’s nostalgia-tinged glasses.

The contemporary Face retains the same vibrancy as its older counterpart, just without the signs of past times. Interesting compositions, fresh faces, zippy headlines, the Face’s grasp on youth culture has not changed, but the culture itself has and will constantly. In this way there is no more apt name to describe this exhibition than Culture Shift.

I want to end this review with another quote by Matthew Whitehouse

“I suppose one thing we have going for us is that THE FACE was always about being young and alive right now. And since our relaunch in 2019, after a 15-year gap, we’ve tried to capture that as much as possible: looking less at the past (or even, to be honest, the future), and more at what’s going on at precisely this moment. Facing outwards, not inwards. Reflecting the world and the people living in it.”

(Quotes from Gallery Wall texts)

Profile: Emily Spargo

Hello! I’m Emily, a part-time master’s student pursuing the MSc in Conservation of Contemporary Art and Media based at UCL East. I’m also a Library Assistant at UCL and an intern at the Institute of Making. I’m currently working towards a career in conservation. Still, I’m equally passionate about shaping the field for the better along the way, and I believe that addressing matters of equality, diversity, and inclusion is central to that process. 

My background is in the history of art, which I studied at the Courtauld Institute, where I graduated in 2019. Since then, aside from spending an unplanned year and a half living in Japan during the COVID-19 pandemic, I’ve gained hands-on experience in the arts, including working as a curatorial trainee in my local art museum in Falmouth, Cornwall, where I grew up. I’ve worked with Engage, the National Association for Gallery Education, as a Young Programme Producer, where I helped co-create a conference exploring the future possibilities of participatory arts. I’ve also enjoyed volunteering with various cultural organisations, including the Museum of Homelessness in Finsbury Park.

I’m particularly interested in discussing social class disparities within the art world. Growing up in one of the most rural and economically deprived parts of the UK, contrasted with living in London, I’ve become interested in how place and class intersect with boundaries of access to the arts. I’m interested in how systems of power and privilege influence who gets to participate in the art world and how they impact the experience of those from less privileged backgrounds in getting in and getting on in the sector. Additionally, I hope to help demystify the field of art conservation and highlight broader conversations around equality, diversity, and inclusion, connecting the discipline to the wider art world and society in general.
 

Exhibition Review: Lives Less Ordinary at Two Temple Place

“People are more than their struggles” is the message of Lives Less Ordinary, an exhibition rallying for a more inclusive and equitable representation of British working-class life in art institutions. It’s no secret that class is an issue in the art world, yet it remains an elusive topic. When it does appear, it often focuses narrowly on narratives of poverty and struggle. This ambitious show duly aims to redress the status quo, denouncing reductive stories and centring one that is vibrant, embracing, and brimming with joy. 
 
At first glance, Two Temple Place might seem like an unlikely venue — a grandiose neo-Gothic mansion once owned by the American-British tycoon William Waldorf Astor. But step inside its ornate halls, and the choice begins to make sense. Now owned by a charity with a mission to use the building to spark dialogue, it isn’t just a venue — it’s part of the narrative. A place once reserved for opulence and the wealthy is reimagined as a space for conversation and connection.

Across five rooms, more than 150 artworks by over 60 artists explore home, family, community, leisure and kinship. Painting, photography, sculpture, ceramics, and video span a history from the 1950s to the present day, focusing on what it means to be British and working-class. Photography, in particular, captures the unerring identities of the many people pictured. By artist Neil Kenlock, you find a suited young boy from Brixton standing in his pattern-engulfed 1970s living room, he’s mimicking the perfect first-day-at-school-awkward-photo pose with a smirk on his face. Pictures of women knitting, laughing, kissing — the world of a Scottish women’s refuge by Sandra George. Ken Grant contemplates the ordinary by documenting moments of people resting and playing, or simply enjoying a cup of tea at home.

One highlight is the work of Kelly O’Brien, whose piece Three Generations of Work CV (Paid and Unpaid Labour), a towering stack of paper that literally lists the entire working history of the women in her family. It’s both a tribute and satire, balancing dignity and absurdity in the sheer volume of jobs laid bare. Her wry line “intergenerationally absolutely knackered” cuts through the fatigue with humour. Yet what lingers is not hardship but warmth — a current of love and joy that ripples through the show. And if Connor Coulston’s neon and ceramic vases — including one featuring Harry Styles’s face encircled by glowing pink hearts — don’t brighten your day, then perhaps this isn’t one for you.

One of the exhibition’s most effective choices is the inclusion of the artists’ own words on interpretation panels, giving space for voices often left unheard or misrepresented. These direct quotes ground the work in lived experience and emphasise the multiplicity of working-class identities. Diversity is central to the exhibition’s mission to uproot the tired misconception that working-class life is exclusively white. This is beautifully conveyed in Matthew Arthur Williams’ two-channel video installation suspended in the oak and mahogany stairwell, which weaves together intimate portraits of migrant families with atmospheric scenes of Northern England. Upstairs, Denzel Forrester’s paintings pulsate with the energy of Brixton club culture, capturing the collective euphoria and rhythmic grooves of the dancefloor. 

Lives Less Ordinary set out to reclaim the narrative and celebrate the richness and complexity of working-class life in Britain. It captures an unwavering spirit, and one that is bolder than resilience: an unapologetic, full-hearted expression of identity. It reminds us that discussions around class don’t need to be steeped in melancholy to carry weight. Given the space, people will define themselves in more liberated, layered, and self-determined ways than the stereotypes allow. 

Its arrival feels timely, too, when ill-fated headlines like ‘working-class creatives don’t stand a chance’ echo the bleak situation of the UK arts sector. Now is the moment to engage with class disparities with greater nuance, depth, and imagination. As Morgan Quaintance puts it, ‘For those who are interested in altering the status quo (or at least creating a robust parallel sector capable for providing a viable alternative) it will be vital to refuse the pressure to reproduce marginal melancholy, the pressure to accept characterisations of absolute lack, and to refuse absorption into the stasis and circularity of the closed loop.’ Lives Less Ordinary refuses exactly that — and in doing so, it dares, I hope, to open the loop wide. 

Left image: Installation view of Matthew Arthur Williams’ Soon Come, 2022, two-channel film sound installation, 20mins 25seconds. Photographed by Emily Spargo.

Right image: Close-up of Kelly O’Brien’s Cleaner No.1 (from No Rest for the Wicked), 2022 -ongoing, print on fabric. Photographed by Emily Spargo.

 

Getting Started in the Visual Arts: A Toolkit for Working-Class Professionals

As someone in the early stages of my career, I realise how diffi cult it can be to get started in the visual arts sector - and even more knowing where to turn to for support. For people from lower socio-economic backgrounds, barriers like nepotism, elitism, the rising costs of living and diminishing rates of pay, make this already challenging pursuit even more trialling. Increasingly, fewer people from working-class backgrounds are entering the sector, which understandably, doesn’t present itself as a viable pathway.

But for those that do pursue a career in the visual arts, there are networks and organisations that can help you along the way. I’ve created this toolkit as a resource for anyone in our department who needs it. It highlights people, groups and communities that offer funding, support, opportunities and resources. There are great options out there and it’s never too late to reach out.

In fact, while researching this article, I reached out to the Working Arts Club (a club for professionals in the visual arts from working-class backgrounds). A few generous professionals shared their advice for others navigating similar challenges. Here’s what they had to say:

Insights from the Sector

Alana Lake - international artist based in London and Berlin

“One piece of advice I’d pass on is paraphrasing something Richard Kirwan (Lecturer at the Royal Academy of Arts) once shared: Don’t underestimate the power of your peers and collaborating on projects. It didn’t really resonate with me at the time, but now I see how true it is. Working together, in any shape or form, really makes things more accessible and a whole lot easier.”

Toby Monk - global recruitment & engagement director at Christie’s

“The biggest impact on working-class talent coming into the arts is usually that they don’t have the network that comes from attending a fee-paying school, and building that for yourself is not easy, but it’s doable. There are some great organisations trying to replicate that, as mentioned, including the Working Arts Club, but that’s just one avenue; you must seek mentors and allies – reach out to people whose work you admire, even cold via LinkedIn or email. Many are open to mentoring or a quick chat, especially if you’re honest about your journey – there will be radio silence, but persevere. Secondly, you must keep showing up – go to free exhibitions, panels, and openings; building a network starts with simply being present. Lastly, I would say be open-minded, and broaden your definition of ‘art jobs’ – there are roles in operations, education, digital, marketing, and logistics that are a great entry point into the sector.”

Eugene Sheidlin - founder and curator at Art Nomad Curators, and founder and director at workflow.art

“Let go of the illusion that art is a meritocracy. Talent matters, but not more than context. Your access to visibility, funding, exhibitions, and residencies - all of that is shaped by your ability to navigate networks, maintain long-term focus, and keep creating even when survival itself is a challenge.

I won’t romanticise it. If you’re born without money, cultural capital, or geographic advantage, your chances of becoming a successful curator or artist are close to zero. But zero is not nothing - it’s the space where everything becomes possible through sheer force of will, curiosity, and persistence. That’s how I did it. Through non-stop practice, through accepting that failure was not a setback but a form of progress. You fall upwards every time you try.

My advice:

• Don’t seek approval. Build experience.
• Don’t wait for the gatekeepers. Work around them.
• Don’t aim for purity. Be strategic.
• Learn fast, adapt faster, and never treat your art practice like it’s disconnected from the political and economic systems you’re surviving in.
• Find people who are walking the same path. Form your own constellation.

Above all, don’t approach this field idealistically. Art is not only about beauty - it’s about meaning, discomfort, and contradiction. It’s about learning to speak before you’re fluent and creating before you feel ready. You don’t need permission to begin.”

Image: The Working Art Club hosted a series of panel discussions with artists and professionals titled ‘Class Talks’ earlier this year in London. Image credit: @workingartsclub Instagram page.
 

ToolKit

Networks and Unions

Artists Union England – Helps artists understand their rights, including fair pay, tax advice, legal support, and public liability insurance.

Axisweb – An online community where you can connect with other artists and access opportunities.

Museums as Muck – A supportive network of working-class museum professionals campaigning for equity in museums and galleries.

Working Arts Club – A club for professionals in the visual arts from working-class backgrounds. Runs events in London and active WhatsApp channels. Follow them on Instagram.

Working Class British Art Network – A research group within the British Art Network supporting more inclusive exhibition practices and working-class representation.

Working Class Creatives – Supports working-class creatives with community, resources, and professional development.

Organisations offering training and support

A New Direction – London-based organisation focused on improving access to creative careers for underrepresented young people.

Art Curatorial Nomads – Supports young artists through curatorial projects, residencies, and educational resources.

Art History Link-Up – Offers free art history courses and museum-based learning for state school students.

Arts Emergency – Offers mentoring and support to 16–18-year-olds from less privileged backgrounds aiming for arts and humanities careers.

Creative Access – A recruitment and training organisation focused on improving access to creative careers for underrepresented groups.

Frieze New Writers – Annual writing programme offering workshops and training for aspiring art writers, with support from the Frieze editorial team.

Gertrude – A curated online sales platform for artists without gallery representation.

Museums Association – Museum Essentials – Introductory resources and training for those entering museum careers.

New Curators Programme – A paid, year-long curatorial training programme in London for individuals from lower socio-economic backgrounds. 

Paul Smith’s Foundation – Supports young creatives to build careers and businesses in the creative sector.

Tate Collective / Duchamp & Sons at Whitechapel – Programmes for under-25s to engage with the arts and build experience.

Further Resources

Museums as Muck Resources – A webpage of resources and articles for working-class museum professionals.

Podcasts – Writing Class from the Contemporary Women’s Writing Association is a great listen.

The White Pube – Offers a monthly working-class creatives grant and recently published Poor Artists, their first book.

Workflow.art – A free toolkit to help emerging artists organise careers, manage open calls, budgets, portfolios, residencies, and more.

Image: Gabrielle de la Puente, co-founder of the White Pube, holding their recent publication ‘Poor Artists’, a fiction book exploring current realities of working in the art world. Image credit: @thewhitepube Instagram page.

 

Interview with Dr Brian Castriota: Insights on Conservation, Careers, and EDI

Brian Castriota is a lecturer in the MSc Conservation of Contemporary Art and Media program at UCL East. His approach to research engages with ideas from post-structuralism, queer theory, and agential realism to examine conservation practice and theory. Brian has gained extensive experience working in the field including roles at the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum and the National Galleries of Scotland. I spoke to him to learn more about his current research projects, and his hopes for the future of conservation. 

 

Your research draws on feminist theories - particularly new materialisms and the work of Karen Barad. Could you briefly explain how these theories have informed your research and approach to conservation practice?

During my doctoral studies I immersed myself in philosophy to better understand the existing, dominant conservation frameworks—rooted in Anglo-American analytic traditions—and the ways they might be expanded to better accommodate contemporary art and artistic practice. This led me to also start to look at poststructuralism, and from there, feminist and queer theory that affirmed and gave me the tools to better articulate what I encountered in practice, namely flux and indeterminacy. 

While my PhD drew heavily on the thinking of Jacques Derrida, Gilles Deleuze, and Judith Butler, it was Barad’s writing and their agential realist framework that was the key for me. It helped me better understand the nature of measurement and inquiry, the way that the significance of properties of ‘objects’ or entities that we identify through our practices is not revealed or uncovered so much as it emerges through and as a trace or effect of those practices. This implies that what we come to know about artworks and other heritage objects through our analysis and investigations are in fact the results of particular intra-actions between ourselves and objects as parts of the world, shaped by the methods we employ, with the understanding that such distinctions are continually enacted, not a given. 

This wasn’t just a better way of articulating what I was encountering, but required me to radically reframe my understanding of how the world is constituted as continuously enfolding and reforming, how we experience that, and the ethics entailed in how we move through and as part of it. So, in practice this has meant paying greater attention to the ways our actions as conservators shape and reshape the world and its parts, being more attentive and responsive to our ethical entanglements, making more space for uncertainty, and questioning and resisting the colonial impulse to extract, dominate, and control. 

 

You have also engaged with indigenous philosophies and knowledge practices in your research. Is there anything you have learned through this experience, especially in relation to knowledge systems outside the Western academic tradition?

Looking to anti-colonial thinking and scholarship and recognising the ways colonialist and capitalist logics underpin our frameworks and shape and intersect with our practices was the logical continuation of the thinking I just described. As a queer person I have an experience of the ways in which the hegemony of colonial thought “others” and erases by framing one (dominant) way of being and thinking as natural or legitimate, while denigrating, marginalising or actively erasing all others. While a lot of the practices that are commonly employed in contemporary art conservation—like the artist interview—are framed as a way to bring stakeholders into decision making, the assumptions and logics that underpin these methods are rarely questioned, and the ways they are implemented in practice can be extractive and doesn’t necessarily make space for indeterminacy or incommensurability. 

Indigenous, anti-colonial scholarship has in particular highlighted the violence such logics can perpetuate—including by delegitimising and excluding non-Western epistemologies and ontologies. It also emphasises the ethical import of practices rooted in reciprocity and affirming intra-dependency, so I come at this from the perspective of coalitional ethics and as a form of solidarity work. My intention here isn’t to co-opt this thinking to make conservation “better” per se, but to affirm ways of thinking and being that have been historically excluded and erased, illuminate the deficiencies and harms of dominant conservation practices, and rebuild them in a way that is more ethically attuned. 

Image: Dr Brian Castriota, Lecturer in Conservation of Contemporary Art & Media, leading a class on analogue video tape digitisation in the Media Conservation Studio with MSc students Meda Povilonyte, Kun Fan, and Jean-Jacques Girod-Roux. 

Photo credit: James Tye.
 

What research projects are you currently working on? 

I’m currently extending this thinking, particularly around notions of attunement, affirming intra-dependency and indeterminacy, and the idea that repair and liberation cannot happen without one another. I’ve been very inspired by bell hooks’s writing on love, and I’m looking at how we might move the conversation past “care ethics” to an “ethics of love”, where honesty, communication, consistency, reciprocity, and respect are more central to our practices in their most expansive sense. As Hooks notes, love is not a feeling but a practice, a set of actions, centred around nourishing the growth of the self and the other, where dependency and vulnerability are celebrated and not denigrated as risks to be mitigated. This kind of attuned, love-as-practice is counter to forms of care practices that are often paternalistic or extractive. This formulation of love is not antithetical to freedom and liberation, but creates the real conditions for them, and for true flourishing. This is the case for our relations with people, with the entities we invest with meaning and significance, along with the other more-than-human parts of the world. So, I see this as anti-colonial, anti-racist, anti-capitalist solidarity work, imagined through conservation practices and diffracted out into how we might live our lives and move through the world more ethically. 

 

As a professional with diverse experience in the conservation sector, what do you think are the most pressing issues to address in building a more equitable, inclusive and diverse field?

I think this is achieved, for one, by moving beyond a narrow framing of conservation as something that happens principally in the contexts of museums and well-resourced institutional collections and/or the private art market. A lot of the ‘best practice’ we have was conceived by folks working in these contexts and for these contexts. What we don’t have enough of is a more expansive and inclusive consideration of the entities that need and deserve conservation, where these coalesce and thrive (or are unable to), and getting knowledge, expertise and resource where it’s most desperately needed. 

Here I’m thinking of community organisations and non-profits with archives and collections, along with artists and their studios. What if there were fellowships of funding to connect emerging conservators with these smaller organisations, or artists and artist estates, to help care for their collections? I think to really create more equity, inclusion, and access we also need to find ways to support students and emerging conservators from diverse backgrounds, use whatever power we have to distribute opportunity and resource more broadly and equitably, affirm the worth of diverse knowledges and skills, and work collectively and strategically to create change that really starts to identify and dismantle structural inequalities and barriers in the field, and this involves not just naming and addressing the symptoms but the root causes. This is at the heart of the pedagogical ethos Pip Laurenson, Libby Ireland and I are trying to implement with the MSc.

 

Finally, what advice do you have for students in the department who are thinking about pursuing a career in academic research? 

Follow your heart and passion! Academic research and writing can certainly be a chore sometimes, but when you find a subject that preoccupies you, it’s the thing your mind wanders to when you’re alone in thought, something you feel in your bones that you need to come to grips with, coming from a deep place within you, it will feel important, and as long as it feels important it probably is, and it will be joyful and meaningful. I would say don’t only think research concerns the topics you’re investigating and that it must take the form of academic writing—be willing to think critically, creatively, and imaginatively also about the tools and methods you use to conduct your research, and the forms that it might take.

• Read articles by the 2023-24 EDI Journalists
• Read articles by the 2022-23 EDI Journalists