Museums and #MEtoo
Since the earliest days of his career, Chuck Close’s vision as a painter has stood out—so much so that, in 1969, the Walker became the first museum to purchase his art, bringing Big Self-Portrait (1967–1968) into the collection. Since then the Walker has acquired 18 more works, including some as gifts from the artist, and organized two solo shows. Given this level of commitment, recent accusations of sexual harassment against the artist have profoundly shaken us—and the field—prompting a serious look at questions related to the presentation of work by artists accused of grave wrongdoing. How can art institutions deeply devoted to both artists and audiences best respond? How should work by artists accused of wrongdoing be presented and contextualized? How must key museum processes change—from acquisitions protocols to the writing of interpretive materials, education programs to publishing?
I have remained mostly silent on #MeToo, even though my work provokes critical empathy through personal vulnerability and acts of retribution. Now I, a subaltern, am speaking about the act of naming names in the first time I’m being formally compensated for my suffering on this issue.
Regarding naming names, many reports highlight outrageous situations that elide the everyday nature of sexual harassment for women of color. It’s hard to know what consent is while attempting to position myself for the things I desire in life. I may have experienced “sexual” harassment, but it may have been intracommunity microaggressions. Frequent sufferers of microaggressions often question if they indeed happened at all,1 and women of color, especially queer and poor ones, experience gender as an intersectional violence that cannot separate race, class, or sexuality.2 My act of naming names is embroiled in a historical battle to protect my queer body, my Black labor, and my fast-beating, working heart.
To acknowledge my experiences would be to acknowledge the effect of “controlling images,” such as Jezebel and Mammy, as described by Patricia Hill Collins3. The burden of representation and, more important to me, the value of my work come into my mouth when I name potential aggressors, and neither the legal system nor public opinion has protected a Black woman from early death by overwork or career suicide.
I work too hard around the powerful people, who have held my hand, kissed me on the mouth, slapped my butt, asked me to sit on their lap, or gave me access to something just for the purpose of getting me alone. I often respectfully declined, but these might be people I would want a relationship with—if the power differential didn’t lead to a profound sense of loss and inequality. Yes, I could consent; but most of my relationships have reproduced a paradigm that already exists, and therefore I have never experienced real equality in intimacy. What makes the art world any different? For my list of names, what will I get but a broken heart and more work?