2020 compels art museums to answer:
Are we racist?
Diversity involves the work on display, yes, but also at all levels of staffing and leadership
“Who are the patrons of art, the museum board members, the collectors?” he asked. “Who is the audience for high culture? Who is allowed to interpret culture? Who is asked to make fundamental policy decisions? Who sets the priorities?
“Is the art world merely mirroring social changes or can art institutions actually play a role in challenging the conditions of institutional racism in America?”
Berger’s essay was published in Art in America in 1990. It might as well have been written yesterday.
The COVID-19 pandemic, combined with the uprisings in the wake of the killing of George Floyd, led to a summer of turmoil that in this fraught election season has not only revealed the fragile financial foundations on which many arts institutions rest (especially small ones) but laid bare institutional inequities embedded in their structures.
Pandemic closures have induced an avalanche of museum layoffs that have most frequently targeted workers at the bottom while leadership teams have largely held on to their posts. Moreover, the Floyd moment has put a glaring spotlight on diversity: 30 years after Berger’s essay, museum staffs, on average, remain overwhelmingly white.
Collectively run social media feeds like Art + Museum Transparency and @changethemuseum have served as public catalogs of pay inequity and straight-up racism. Last summer, the list of open letters condemning management practices at museums has been long and illustrious, targeting the Guggenheim Museum in New York, the New Orleans Museum of Art in Louisiana, the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art and the Getty Trust in Los Angeles, to name but a few.
This lands amid broader calls for structural change.
“I look at this as a reckoning,” says Joe D. Horse Capture, a curator and vice president at the Autry Museum of the American West. “There have been practices and perspectives in museums that people say, ‘Oh, that’s not acceptable,’ then they move on. Whereas now, they say, ‘That’s not acceptable, and let’s do something about it.’ ”
The push for change is not just on outward representation of the artists a museum features in its exhibition program. It’s also aimed at how museums are structured and governed.
“There are two uprisings against museums,” says Nizan Shaked, professor of art history and museum studies at Cal State Long Beach. “One is around economics and the ethics of wealth; the other is issues of race and historical discrimination, and they meet at the infrastructural level.”
Now, as institutions in some cities begin to reopen — though not yet in Los Angeles County — the question is in what form they will begin to reemerge.
“There is so much disruption that it’s hard to tease out the different things,” says Laura Lott, president and chief executive of the American Alliance of Museums. “It’s all overlapping and interrelated.”
Let’s start with the finances.
A survey conducted by AAM in June showed that 33% of museums may not be able to survive the pandemic without additional financial support. And with a new congressional stimulus bill still uncertain at press time, chances are additional paycheck protection loans will not be landing any time soon.
“Our survey shows that more than 40% of the museums anticipated reopening with a reduced number of staff,” Lott says. “There are significant cuts, and they vary by type and size of museum.”
Fast-forward one novel coronavirus and you have a veritable bloodletting.
New York museums such as the Guggenheim and the New Museum have shed staff. So has the wealthy Metropolitan Museum of Art — estimated endowment: $3.1 billion — 20% smaller than when the pandemic began.
In Los Angeles, the Huntington Library, Art Museum and Botanical Gardens has eliminated staff, as has MOCA, which laid off all of its part-timers in March — including members of the museum’s newly established labor union. (MOCA Director Klaus Biesenbach and a representative for the union say that contract negotiations have nonetheless been ongoing. “MOCA still recognizes the union,” Biesenbach states via email.)
In addition, this month, the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, which had thus far avoided employee cutbacks, quietly laid off fewer than 10 employees working in on-site membership sales.
“The job functions that are most affected — guest services and front-line staff — my sense is that people of color are being disproportionately affected by those cuts,” Lott says. “That is exacerbating those questions of equity.”
It will be a challenge, she says, for museums to reckon with equity while “also making deep cuts both in terms of staffing and budgets.”
It’s a challenge museums across the country will have to find a way to surmount, says Erin Christovale, an assistant curator at the Hammer Museum, one of two Black curators on staff.
“If you hold power to this space, are you going to lean in and try to educate yourself?” she asks. “Because if not, museums will become relics.”
For many museums, facing that question has been a bumpy ride. Despite making advances in recent years, the presence of Black, Latinx, Asian and Indigenous staff at many institutions, especially in the curatorial and leadership ranks, remains slim.
According to a survey published by the Mellon Foundation in 2018, 16% of curatorial staffs are people of color (the term used in the data). Those figures don’t come close to reflecting the demographics of the U.S. — which is about 40% people of color, according to recent census estimates. And it certainly doesn’t come close to reflecting the diversity of U.S. urban areas, where many major museums are located.
This came to the fore in the wake of Floyd’s death, when some institutions put out feel-good public relations statements accompanied by images of work by Black artists — and were met with withering criticism.
In June, an Instagram post by the Palm Springs Art Museum featuring a sculpture by Alison Saar drew a sharp rebuke from Latinx former curatorial assistant Andrea Romero in the form of an open letter: “There is no commitment to concrete and direct action against racism and anti-Blackness at your institution.” It was signed by more than 250 artists and art professionals.
The San Francisco Museum of Art faced its own uproar over an Instagram post in May, when it deleted comments critical of the institution by Black former staffer Taylor Brandon. SFMOMA Director Neal Benezra ultimately apologized and, two months later, the museum’s senior curator Gary Garrels resigned after saying that it would be “reverse discrimination” to temporarily stop collecting the work of white men while the collection achieved parity. None of it was a good look for an institution that in 2019 declined to tell the San Francisco Chronicle whether there were any African American curators on staff. In addition, SFMOMA has been criticized for the amount of real estate it has devoted to showing the private Fisher Collection — it built a $305-million wing for it — which is focused on artists of the blue-chip, white-male variety. (When I attended the opening of the new wing in 2016, there was an entire floor that didn’t contain a single work by a woman.)
The Palm Springs Art Museum didn’t return a request for comment. And a spokeswoman for SFMOMA said that museum leadership was preoccupied with reopening and wouldn’t be able to attend to my queries. SFMOMA did, however, issue a statement in July announcing a diversity plan and the hiring of two new directors to oversee employee experience and diversity and inclusion. Still, the executive team additions come at a time the museum has laid off staff and implemented furloughs.
Certainly, it will take more than a couple of hires to shift the ways museums are governed.
“I think what museums really need to be thinking through right now is that, beyond just hiring us, how can you support us?” asked the Hammer’s Christovale recently on UCLA’s “Works in Progress” podcast. “And how might that support look and feel different than the traditional support that you’ve offered your curators?”
She tells The Times that “mentorship is a start.” A mentorship “that comes with a lived experience that you can understand, relate to, learn from. Those nuances and dynamics are crucial to us in terms of understanding how we can operate in these spaces.”
For a young Black curator, those mentors can be startlingly few. “I think of Thelma [Golden, director of the Studio MuseumLowery Stokes Sims in Harlem] and [formerly of New York’s Museum of Arts and Design],” she says. “But at the end of the day, I can count them all on one hand.”
That raises the question of who is running the show at U.S. museums. The Mellon report shows representation at the highest ranks remains stubbornly white, with only 12% of museum leadership roles occupied by people of color in 2018 — a negligible 1% increase since 2015.
At the Getty Trust — the entity that governs the J. Paul Getty Museum, the Getty Research Institute, the Getty Conservation Institute and the Getty Foundation — the stats are even worse. Senior leadership is entirely white, despite at least three opportunities over the last three years to add diverse executives to the mix as others have left or retired.
Across the Trust’s 1,400 employees, 29% identify as BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, people of color), including security and visitor services associates. Those numbers thin out when it comes to professional positions that direct programming. At the Getty Museum, only 11% of the curatorial staff identifies as BIPOC — five points below the national average, in a county in which one in two residents is Latino.
In July, staff at the Getty Trust sent an open letter to management decrying the lack of diversity and an atmosphere in which individuals from underrepresented groups were made to feel “unwelcome” and were “too rarely given positions of power.” It also criticized careless remarks by members of management and a lack of investment in diversity and inclusion initiatives.
“We are incredibly privileged,” says the museum’s Director Tim Potts. “We are not threatened financially, the way other institutions are.” (The Getty has not furloughed or laid off staff during the pandemic.) “But the issues — the profile, the lack of diversity — it’s as dramatic and as problematic as it is for other institutions.”
The Getty had begun to tackle its diversity problem before the uprisings. Early in 2019, it formed a Diversity, Equity and Inclusion Council. Last month, the museum publicly released a 12-page draft plan for how it might tackle its shortcomings. It includes adopting anti-racism policies, conducting regular pay equity studies, publishing an annual diversity report and establishing “a more robust exit interview process” to better understand why some BIPOC staff don’t stick around.
Potts says that the museum is preparing to post two new positions for which “every effort to find diverse candidates” will be made. He says the institution is also working to re-imagine how a museum whose principal mandate is to collect European art made before 1900 might become more programmatically diverse.
Some of this will mean nose-to-the-grindstone research: finding and acquiring work by women and other marginalized artists. It also will involve exploring the ways in which some of these themes might manifest in the works already held (a recent show was devoted to portrayals of the Black Magi in medieval and Renaissance art). The museum’s photography program — which extends to the present and includes strong collections of work by Mexican and Japanese American artists — offers further opportunities.
Several Getty staffers interviewed for this story welcomed the museum’s detailed plan but were skeptical about how much change to expect.
“There is a lot of distrust that human resources and senior leadership can be different,” says one employee, who asked not to be identified out of fear of retaliation. “Obviously, if they can accomplish the things on this list, if they can have a more diverse staff that better reflects Los Angeles, that would be an improvement. But are these the people capable of doing that? I don’t know.”
Well before the pandemic, boards were a target of activists calling into question the unsavory sources of patron wealth. This includes Warren Kanders, vice chairman of New York’s Whitney Museum of American Art, who resigned from the board last year after activists from Decolonize This Place led protests over his company’s manufacture of tear gas. Detroit Pistons owner Tom Gores resigned from LACMA’s board this month over his investment in a prison phone company accused of charging prisoners exorbitant rates for calls.
A 2017 survey by AAM shows that 89.3% of museum board members in the U.S. are white. That plays out across L.A. institutions: At MOCA, only four of the 33 voting members identify as BIPOC. At LACMA, the tally is eight out of 53, and at the Hammer it’s four out of 21.Neither the Hammer’s board of trustees nor its board of advisors has a Latino member.
These powerful groups can have an outsize effect on a museum’s mission, its collecting, its programming and even its physical plant. (Name a bajillionaire who doesn’t like slapping his name on a new building.) It’s a system, writes artist Andrea Fraser in her book “2016 in Museums, Money and Politics,” which examines the political giving of museum trustees around the country, that “may serve to perpetuate and legitimize the economic inequality and privation that underlies so many of the social problems philanthropic organizations aim to solve.”
CSULB’s Shaked says conflict of interest on these boards often runs high: Acquisitions can be driven by board members who are also collectors and therefore have an interest in promoting the work of the artists they collect. “They need to separate wealth from decision-making,” Shaked says. “We cannot have these institutions governed by people who are only wealthy collectors. They need other stakeholders on their boards: scholars and artists and historians.”
Some museums have made small moves in that direction. LACMA appointed the Studio Museum’s Golden to its board in 2016. More compelling is the model employed by the Hammer, which breaks out duties among different groups: The board of trustees focuses on the big financial picture, while the board of advisors is involved in acquisitions. A separate artist council advises on other issues.
“The diversity and inclusion work that we started about six years ago,” says Hammer chief curator Connie Butler, “came as a challenge from them.”
But many boards have historically put more value in acquisition and expansion than in working on, say, establishing a fund to tackle pay equity.
Museum directors at major institutions often draw six- and seven-figure salaries and may have perks such as free housing or interest-free home loans. Life at the bottom is much leaner. At SFMOMA, Benezra’s total compensation grew by 18% between 2015 and 2017, according to 990 forms filed with the IRS — roughly the same period in which unionized employees were fighting for basic cost of living increases. (Benezra has since taken a 50% pay cut in response to the pandemic’s financial toll.)
The past 18 months have seen a wave of labor organizing campaigns that have drawn attention to gallery attendants in major metro areas whose earnings barely crack minimum wage. Entry-level curatorial jobs, which generally require advanced degrees, often start at levels the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development would classify as “low income” in most U.S. cities. (The average entry-level salary of a curatorial assistant in the United States is $42,458, according to a 2017 study by the Assn. of Art Museum Directors — a sum that would be considered “low income” in L.A. and “very low income” in San Francisco.)
Recently, the Baltimore Museum of Art made headlines when it announced it would deaccession three paintings by Brice Marden, Clyfford Still and Andy Warhol for an estimated $65 million to establish an endowment to make up for income disparities at the museum.
“It was not defensible to make broad equity claims, do a Mark Bradford exhibition in our galleries, then pay a guard $13.50 an hour to guard these priceless works of art,” the museum’s director, Christopher Bedford, says. “That’s not the spirit of this institution.”
The goal, he says, is to raise the entry-level hourly wage of front of house staff to $20 per hour, for an annual wage of almost $42,000 by July 2022. (Currently, a guard making $13.50 an hour takes home $28,000 year — in the “very low income” category within the city of Baltimore, according to HUD.) It’s an admirable goal. A worker at a prestigious museum shouldn’t have to have two full-time jobs merely to survive. But the sale has drawn the ire of critics, partly over possible procedural irregularities. It also, as Times art critic Christopher Knight noted in a recent story, lets the board off the hook of building an institution that is more equitable.
“Every museum director knows that it’s easier to raise money for the sexier initiatives than for the endowment intended to fund operations,” Bedford says.
Case in point: LACMA laid off a small group of front-line workers even as it moves ahead with a mammoth $750-million rebuilding plan, and no executives took pay cuts.
But unless institutions demand more of their trustees, real change is not going to come.
Surely, if a few randos on the internet can pool $10,000 to help out a Fleetwood Mac-lip-syncing skateboarder in Idaho, then the finest minds in philanthropy can figure out how to build a funding model that affords museum guards a dignified wage. For if boards are going to talk equity, they need to be willing to fund it too.
“Museum leadership,” Shaked says, “needs to storm the Bastille.”
