EXPLORING IDENTITY THROUGH ART WITH CURATOR ELLIOTT RAMSEY
Photo: Mackenzie Walker
Elliott Ramsey is a curator at The Polygon Gallery in North Vancouver, BC. Elliott also happens to have an incredibly unique and innate sense of personal style, giving us no choice but to go full force and do an entire multi-look photoshoot at their place of work, for obvious reasons.
In 2021, Ramsey curated Interior Infinite, an exhibition on self-portraiture through masquerade and disguise featuring internationally acclaimed artists including Nick Cave, Martine Gutierrez, Zanele Muholi, and Carrie Mae Weems.
In this one-on-one, we learn how Elliott’s experiences as a mixed-race and gender-nonbinary individual inform their research while examining the ties between expression, passion and personal identity.
POSTERCHILD (PC): Can you describe your journey to becoming a curator at The Polygon Gallery?
ELLIOTT RAMSEY (ER): I didn't even know what a curator was until I started my master's. I came into this field curious about art and what I could do in the contemporary art world. When I was growing up, everybody expected me to either go into animation or fashion design. I came from a household that really valued literacy, so I went a more academic route with university; I didn't study art at all—I graduated in Media Studies and Communication. After graduating, I wanted to reorient myself towards art again, so I reached out to Simon Fraser University since I had always been curious about their School for the Contemporary Arts. They told me they were about to pilot a brand new MA program, then called the Master of Arts in Comparative Media Arts, and they encouraged me to apply. They accepted me in the inaugural cohort.
From there, it was just a run of really great people who believed in me. One of my supervisors, the wonderful Denise Oleksijczuk, was impressed with my writing and referred me to Amy Kazymerchyk, who was then the curator at the Audain Gallery. Amy invited me to do a written response to the Ursula Mayer show that was on at the time. She told Tobin Gibson, who then was assistant curator at Presentation House Gallery, about me and encouraged me to apply for their summer internship. So I did. Then Helga Pakasaar, the Chief Curator, took a chance on me and hired me. I worked at Presentation House Gallery for a year learning the ins and outs.
When Presentation House Gallery started to become The Polygon and commenced construction, they weren't able to renew my contract. The late and legendary Diane Evans, who I love so much, connected me with Pantea Haghighi, who was running Republic Gallery, a commercial gallery. So I cut my teeth and learned the ropes of the commercial gallery world for a couple of years.
Photo: Mackenzie Walker
When The Polygon opened, they brought me back as a Curatorial Assistant, and I very quickly filled the role of Assistant Curator. It’s funny, you switch those two words and the entire role changes. When I curated Interior Infinite, my first big exhibition in 2021, our fantastic Director, Reid Shier, who really believed in what I was doing, named me Curator.
I would say my journey to becoming a curator at The Polygon has been guided by a lot of really generous people who believed in the work I was doing and saw potential in me. I'm not a networker at all, but I was very lucky that when I asked for help at these key times, or put myself out there, there were people who showed up for me. I hope that I've shown up for them too in the work that I've been doing.
PC: What were some of the challenges that you faced in that process?
ER: This process took place throughout my 20s, isn't that challenging enough? In all seriousness, I think one of the biggest challenges that I've continuously grappled with was understanding and accepting that there are skills that curators require, or skills that benefit curators, that can't be taught in a curatorial program or don't come from an art history degree. I was quite self-conscious about the fact that I did not have an Art History degree or a Master's in Curatorial Studies. A lot of what I learned was on the job.
For a long time, I was contending with this feeling of, Do I belong here? Can I do this work? Am I qualified? The feedback that I get is, yes, I am, but it was a challenge. In particular, when people would make art-historical or art world references that would require one to be quite initiated to understand. In the beginning, I would just nod along and pretend like I understood the reference, even when I didn't, because I don't have that background. Finding the courage and the confidence within myself to say, “I don't know what that is, tell me more about it”—that's the only way that you learn. It’s still something that I have to remind myself to do, especially in a field where a lot of people look to you as an expert. I'm not an expert, and I have to be okay with that.
Photo: Mackenzie Walker
PC: It’s so commendable to be somebody who welcomes not knowing. It’s what enables us to have real conversations and teach each other. Are there aspects of culture or art history that personally interest you that you lean towards in your curatorial work?
ER: I think that curatorial work, for me, is instinctual. It starts with an affect or a deep impression – something that moves me. That has to come from my understanding, my experience and my subjective position. I hope that perspective speaks to a broader audience or that I can translate it for a broader audience. As a gender non-binary person and a mixed-race person, I stand at a vantage point where certain prevailing narratives that have structured our history, culture and society, have excluded me or don't make intuitive sense to me. When I find artists who, like me, are standing outside of arbitrary norms and saying, Why is this the way we talk about that? Why is this the way we frame it? Why haven't we heard from this group of people? It attracts me to centre those perspectives that haven’t yet been centred.
Photo: Mackenzie Walker
PC: Is there anyone that you have that you are trying to speak to with your curatorial research?
ER: I hope that however niche a work can seem there's an access point for anybody who comes to it. Part of my job as a curator is to take work that's been made in a very specific context, from a particular point of view and make it accessible to anyone who approaches it. It’s really lovely when audiences see themselves in work and feel recognized and immediately welcomed. I also think it's wonderful when there's attention and understanding that has to be arrived at.
PC: What do you feel is uniquely “Ramsenian” about your curatorial practice?
ER: I think there are two parts to that answer. For one thing, I’ve always had a flair for the theatrical. I love it when an art exhibition transports the viewer. When you can step outside of everyday life and into a world that the artists invite you into. Whenever I'm working with artists who are leaning towards some kind of theatrical element, I'm often in full support. I love for there to be a transportive element to an exhibition, another threshold for the viewer to cross to have them inhabit the space.
The other thing is public programming. When I'm thinking about an exhibition concept, ideas for public outreach, education, screenings and talks are already percolating. If I can't come up with a way to animate an exhibition, then maybe it’s a sign that it's not the right exhibition to do for our public. By bringing in guest artists, guest contributors and other respondents, the exhibition can live beyond the gallery space in some way.
Photo: Mackenzie Walker
PC: I want to go back to Interior Infinite, the exhibition you curated in 2021, which focused on self-portraiture through masquerade and disguise. When did the concept for the exhibition become of interest to you?
ER: I think the concept started to crystallize as I was reckoning, as someone of mixed-race Black ancestry, with the murder of George Floyd in May 2020. As a curator, trying to somehow speak to or address this atrocity and wondering if contemporary art had anything to say about that kind of crime.
That thought made me remember the Soundsuit series by American artist Nick Cave, based in Chicago. They are full-body wearable sculptures made of all kinds of found materials–fabrics, beads, shells, feathers, raffia–they're extraordinary. They’re celebratory and hyper-visible, but the very first Soundsuit had actually been made out of twigs, in response to the beating of Rodney King, in 1991. It was originally intended to be camouflage for the black body and worn as protection in order to evade notice.
I was interested that, over time, the Soundsuits had become hyper-visible, they were no longer about hiding but they still provided protection. You couldn't discriminate against the wearer based on their sex, class or race, because everything was hidden underneath the exuberance. This kind of resistance, through jubilation and hyper-visibility, became interesting to me. I thought this was a beautiful symbol for those times when so many people were clamouring to get back to ‘normal’, but by whose standards? And for those for whom ‘normal’ is actually oppressive. I thought it was a beautiful way to centre people for whom normality had never necessarily been a friendly thing.
Photo: Mackenzie Walker
As a theatrical person, as a queer person, I really admired and identified with these artists who donned this regalia that didn’t hide their identity, but actually brought it more fully forward. Not only were they adorning themselves, they were also taking their own portraits. Interior Infinite featured a lot of self-portraiture photography, which resolved a question that I'd had about permission and consent in portrait photography. You have ultimate consent when you're taking your own picture, which is something that a lot of communities, those who historically didn't have access to cameras, weren’t necessarily able to give. It started with the Soundsuit, then evolved into an exhibition around self-portraiture and centring oneself in the frame, using these implements that we think of as disguise not to conceal, but to reveal.
Photo: Mackenzie Walker
PC: On the subject of self-adornment, as someone with an incredible sense of style and wardrobe, can you discuss what elements of fashion you’re most interested in?
ER: I grew up drawing a lot of pictures. A lot of the time I would draw and style the people in my pictures wearing the sorts of clothes that I wished I could wear. They were the sorts of clothes that didn't exist or I didn't know existed or were out of my reach financially. Growing up watching lots of films, playing video games and entering these fantastical worlds, I imagined if I could be a character in one of these, what would I wear? As I got older and had my own means, I started to shop with an eye for what was interesting. I visited Stockholm when I was 24 and seeing the menswear there completely transformed my understanding of the genre. The way those men dressed was so beautiful, appreciating things like the collared shirt, the tie, the waistcoat and the jacket as having a beautiful potential.
Now, I also wear lots of clothing that’s intended “for women”. I don't believe that there's menswear and womenswear. I believe that there are clothes and they belong to whoever looks good in them and loves them. Over the years, I've collected some really great core pieces. Now it's about finding unique pieces that awaken my imagination.
Photo: Mackenzie Walker
PC: Do you have any advice for those interested in developing a curatorial practice professionally or otherwise?
ER: Curating, for me, is a very slow process that takes years and involves a real investment in something that's not yourself. It’s a deep, slow work that's about connecting with and supporting someone or something else beyond yourself. I'm very cautious about the way people throw around the word ‘curate’. To me, the only other place in my life that I feel like I curate is in my relationships. Our lives are dynamic things and our paths fork. Our social networks should very much be informed by where we live, what we’re pursuing and what stage in our lives we're at. But there are people in my life who, no matter where our lives take us, I really make an effort to reach out to and cultivate our relationships, in the same way I would show up for an artist. I think about how I become an artist's ambassador; I become the spokesperson for their work. I have to care deeply enough about it to represent it well. It goes back to the root word of curate, [cura], which holds the same meanings as “to care for” and “to heal”.
Photo: Mackenzie Walker
