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This article looks at Frances Burneys contribution to life writing through her composition, preservation and curatorship of her own personal archive and management of family papers. It charts Burneys chronic anxieties about the possible interpretation of the record that she had created, and the tension between self-expression and self-exposure which underlay her very revealing difficulties with editing, archivism and publication.
This article offers a survey of the recently discovered scrapbooks collated over a number of decades by the Yorkshirewoman Dorothy Richardson (1748–1819). The large set of thirty-five volumes presents an important collection of press cuttings relating to the history and consequences of the French Revolution, and also contains ‘historical and miscellaneous’ material of a more eclectic nature. I argue that the texts significantly improve our understanding of Dorothy Richardson’s position as a reader, writer and researcher working in the North of England at the turn of the nineteenth century. Furthermore, her set of albums raises important questions about the relationship between commonplacing and scrapbooking practices, and the capacity of such textual curatorship to function as a form of both political engagement and autobiographical expression.
The book addresses – in 66 accessible entries – the global circulation of contemporary art in the moment of its fundamental crisis. By using the term ‘projectariat’, the book detours the classical Marxist concept to talk about the life and work of artistic freelancers – artists, curators, critics, academics, writers, technicians and assistants – who, in order to survive, have no choice but to make one project after another and many at the same time. The majority of projectarians do not own much beyond their own capacity to circulate. Thus, they are torn between promises of unrestrained mobility and looming poverty, their precarity only amplified by the global crisis caused by COVID-19.
The book is intended as both a critical analysis and a practical handbook that speaks to and about the vast cohort of artistic freelancers worldwide, people who are currently looking for ways of moving beyond the structural conundrum of artistic networks, where everything that is solid melts into flows – and where nothing is certain except one’s own precarity. The book’s narrative is based on a carefully crafted balance between its three constitutive strands: an uncompromising critique of the cruel economy of global networks of contemporary art; an emphatic, non-moralistic understanding of the perils of artistic labour; and systemic advocacy for new modes of collective action aimed at overcoming the structural deficiencies haunting the global circulation of contemporary art.
The figure of the kaitiaki: learning from Maˉori curatorship past and present Conal McCarthy, Arapata Hakiwai and Philipp Schorch Introduction: curating differently At an international conference in Canada on Indigenous curatorship in 1996, Awhina Tamarapa, then a Māori curator from the Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa (Te Papa), spoke about the display of the pātaka (food storehouse) called Te Tākinga in the exhibition Mana Whenua (Figure 13.1). From her description of how she worked with her tribal community Ngāti Pikiao to develop and interpret the
Miéville’s critical readings locate the genre in modernity, the reader can, in following his character Billy Harrow’s detective 4 and interpretative lead, reveal the historical depths of the weird obscured by Miéville’s curatorship. WEIRD WRITERS, WEIRD CREATURES Miéville’s writing is explicitly informed by the weird tradition, both the modern weird, which he acknowledges, and the older weird related to fate and determinism, which I argue he suppresses in his critical writing. Though the weird has been under theorised
of source communities’ expertise, knowledge and rights to influence – even control – the way their heritage is cared for and represented. This has created new opportunities, challenges and expectations, which have enriched and complicated curatorial roles, particularly for ethnographic curators working with Indigenous communities. This chapter explores these issues and the current utopias and dystopias of contemporary curatorship in Canadian and UK contexts. Museology has shifted away from the curator as lone expert and voice of authority,1 towards facilitating
an institution lauded with praise, yet its work was consistently undermined by the Zanzibar government. Nicol Smith’s experiences also highlight the struggle for women to gain professional acceptance in the male-dominated colonial sphere. This chapter will focus principally upon these two strands – the nature of curatorship in a colonial museum and the particular challenges for a female officer holding this post. As the chapters in this volume indicate, the literature assessing museum development within the British
curator has changed significantly from that of curators of a previous generation. The challenge is what to collect for the future, and how to cope with what has already been collected in the face of what is perceived as a proliferation of possibilities. While selecting what to preserve for the future can be said to have been a central task of curators of previous generations too – some would say this is the central role of curatorship – this, according to many curators of the contemporary everyday, no longer works, and can no longer work, as it once did. Unravelling the
annotated Dalziel proofs, acquired in 1904, were largely disbound and re-housed according to the name of the designer. 37 This is not a criticism of either institution; both have ensured the survival and interpretation of Dalziel’s work through their curatorship. The current work is heavily indebted to excellent scholarship in both museums, past and present. But we can see that the Dalziels were conscious of particular
them with my own academic and ethical ideas of curatorship indeed meant walking a fine line, as the following personal account shows. The background Ethnic shows2 were a widespread form of entertainment all over the Western(-dominated)3 world in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries: non-European people were recruited to perform in Western spectacles in front of paying audiences and to show what were considered ‘typical pursuits’ of their cultures of origin. Several of these shows came from Samoa, and, for example, toured the United States, and there