Curatorship is important for art exhibitions to have that extra edge. In the first in a small series of articles on curating, MARIKA AZZOPARDI talks to The Sunday Times of Malta about her experiences as a curator.

“Every artist dips his brush in his own soul, and paints his own nature into his pictures” ­– Henry Ward Beecher

The first time an editor asked me to write about an art exhibition was some two decades ago. A new artist was exhibiting in a wine bar at a point in time when wine bars were becoming all the rage, drawing the attention of people with cash and a desire to be seen in the ‘right’ circles. I went along, saw and despaired.

The artist was young, enthusiastic and very, very evidently curating his own show. Thus, in all good faith, he had hung up each and every scrawl and dabble he had ever produced, so that, amid the chairs, tables, bar stools, rough limestone walls and wine bottles, the works were simply a jumble of colour and form – going nowhere, yet all over the place. I struggled to find a reason to write.

He had talent but it was not being properly channelled. Nothing seemed to be able to define him. Then my eyes landed on a pair of finely executed portraits and I decided to dedicate my 500 words of text to them. It was an effort well worth my trouble. The editor was happy, the artist was happy, I was relieved.

Marika Azzopardi

The best result, in the long run, was that the artist proceeded to train further in art and is now reaping success while based in the UK and boasting major shows with regularity.

Had I dismissed his work, that first write-up, which risked never being written at all, could have nailed the lid on all his enthusiasm. But nobody should have to make such an effort to visit a show, appreciate it and survive it. And, ultimately, it all boils down to curating.

The hundreds of exhibitions viewed over the years of my involvement in the art world have all taught me, without exception, that while even a well-poised fly on a bare wall can attract attention, not all attention is meaningful.

When somebody questions the necessity of locating a good curator’s involvement in an exhibition, I always patiently explain how curation is much more than organisation. It happens to me, time and again – the artist believes he or she can tackle all the nitty gritty details that necessarily go into the making of an exhibition. But curating is not just about the sending out of invitations or the setting up of a Facebook events page. It is not even just about the haggling with framers or the selection of the wine.

Exhibition poster for ‘Twilight’ (2021) by Madeleine Gera, curated by Marika Azzopardi.

Curation is the backbone against which a collection of works stands. The strength of that backbone makes or breaks the show, and either contributes to present a successful limelight in the artist’s curriculum or risks turning the entire experience into a complete flop.

And success is not measured by the number of works sold or unsold. Rather, it is measured by the impact the collection of works leaves on the audience, whether it includes works that make heads turn and whether, months or years down the line, people will still remember it.

I always bring up the example of a shop window. I would not bring here as an example, the magnificent and enormous windows of Galeries Lafayette Paris Hausmann in Paris, which are all mechanical and somewhat theatrical, even while, many installations today are strongly akin to theatrical backdrops.

Curation is the backbone against which a collection of works stands out

But I can refer to the somewhat milder but just as stunning windows of Selfridges London, typically so impeccably curated that there is no need to quiz much about any of them.

Each window is an exhibition in itself, expertly curated, colour-schemed, decorated, down to the minutest, most invisible nail. In short, a total sight to marvel at. And people just have to stop, look and admire. Every window is enticing, tells a story, speaks to the audience, and, more importantly... the audience understands the story well.

Detail from ‘Charon’, an oil painting by Roderick Camilleri from his exhibition ‘Shadows of Reason’, 2021, curated by Marika Azzopardi.

An art exhibition is, roughly speaking and very basically, the same thing. The artist has to communicate something – beauty, terror, concern, rebellion, fascination, romance, passion, grief, a socially sensitive issue or concern... whatever the reason for the show, for the splash of paint, twisted metal, moulded clay, sewn cloth... whatever medium is used... the communication has to pass through clearly, in order to reach the other end – the audience. It has to come packaged well. Is this asking too much of art? I think not.

Having interviewed so many artists, visited innumerable art studios and curated quite a few shows, I firmly believe that exciting artists are God’s gift to humanity.  The marvel of entering a studio, no matter how cluttered, and sifting through works from different episodes of the artist’s life, understanding why the art, why that kind of art, and getting closer to understanding the artist, is fundamental to the role of a curator.

It is akin to visiting an Aladdin’s cave and finding the odd surprise, and being able to appreciate it amid what, to the untrained eye, might come across as chaos.

‘Filigree: Tradition & Innovation – An Exhibition of Handmade Maltese Filigree’, 2009, curated by Marika Azzopardi.

In today’s scenario, when art is so varied as to make a defining categorisation  near impossible, I would dare to say it should be coined ‘commentary art’  rather than ‘contemporary art’, in that so much thought and conceptualisation is involved.

No matter how conceptual the works, the curator should, very objectively, start putting the puzzle together, spreading it out just so, pushing and enticing the artist to understand how it will work and how it might not.

In order to make sense of a collection on show, the onlooker must be enabled to feel immersed in the relevance of the show. As so many aspiring art lovers struggle to find ways of understanding the fluidity of the art produced today, that understanding can be challenged to the point of exasperation, and the walking away from something that could, if placed in the right context, provide significance. 

Whether the exhibition is exciting enough and the works are of a high enough standard depends on the right choices that must be coordinated to create a sense of completeness. If that completeness is lost, if for an instant a work on display makes an onlooker’s eyes glaze over and lead him to move on, disinterested or befuddled, the completeness has just lost out.