This research was ignited by my own experiences with the precarious nature of employment in the art world. I was first confronted with the perpetual uncertainty that comes with working in the independent sector and gig economy in 2017. At this time I was living in Cairo, where I stayed for three years working as a freelance curator. Since no project was guaranteed nor followed nicely after the other, I also worked a non-art related side job to support myself in-between projects. While it was exciting and fulfilling, I tolerated more than I should have. I was almost always working without a contract and constantly having to fight for my wage that would undoubtedly be underpaid. As is usually the case, I was also working overtime to the point that I was running on reserve energy, but I did both for personal fulfilment, and in the hope that this effort would pay off and better my career. Inevitably, this way of working came coupled with an ever-present measure of anxiety. By March 2020, when the world went into lockdown, the extent of the hostile working practices of the art world hit me; all of my scheduled exhibitions were cancelled and I was not compensated for any of the work I had completed up to that point. Unsure of the seriousness of the pandemic and without health insurance, I made the decision to return to the UK and stay with my dad. By this point, public life had been shut down, two metre social distancing was in place, face-masks compulsory, furlough schemes had been rolled out and there were unprecedented job losses. After a couple of months in what felt like being in no man’s land, and in the attempt to make the most out of this unusual situation that showed no sign of abating, I decided to move to Copenhagen. I had the opportunity to continue my studies, and I thought it might be a good place to wait out the pandemic.

 

Denmark’s reputation of being a land of equality, advocate of egalitarian values, and generous arts funding preceded my arrival. That coupled with the knowledge that the Danish lockdown had been comparatively minimal, I was hopeful that I would have a greater chance of finding employment. It wasn't long before I began working for a small independent non-commercial art space, who told me their financial situation was a little unstable right now, but assured me that once a grant came through, which was supposedly guaranteed, they would secure me a salaried position. They presented themselves as progressive in their politics and through their words, they frequently affirmed the fight against precarious labour. With this promise dangling in front of me, I accepted the conditions of working without a contract (which meant I couldn't open a bank account), and was grateful for the sporadic honorariums that barely covered my rent. However, as the date for when I would receive my salary kept being pushed back, the situation became increasingly unsustainable. After four months of financial instability, feeling like the truth of the situation was being actively obfuscated from me, and with my anxiety reaching all new heights, it was apparent that I could not work like this and I left to find work in a cafe. At first I thought it was just my bad luck, but the more people I informally spoke to who were working in the same field, told me - although rather reservedly - that they had similar experiences in the Copenhagen art scene. Many of them were not taking a wage, working long flexible hours, and if not on social support, also had a side hustle or ‘money job’ such as teaching, waitressing, or translation.

 

I am not excusing how I was treated by the gallery, the details of which I will not get into. However, if I am to draw upon the reels of research regarding funding self-organised art spaces in Europe and North America, I also recognise that the labour insecurity that myself and my colleagues faced is, in part, the consequence of the independent and self-organised art scene being undervalued by governing actors. I was taken aback by the realisation that this could also be the case in Denmark. I was under the impression that Scandinavia had a strong commitment to arts and culture, as well as a welfare system designed to provide citizens with extensive social security.

 

In this sense, while my research stemmed out of my experiences of precarious labour in the art world, it was the discrepancy between the ‘reputation’ of Denmark and the ‘reality’ from which my research took its point of departure. Taking the form of a reflective and discursive text, interweaved with a personal narrative, this paper morphed into a sort of mapping of these discrepancies.

 

I use an anthropological framework to present research into the discipline of curatorial studies. Inviting the reader to journey with me, I begin this paper by defining self-organisation, emphasising how in recent years descriptions of self-organisation have shifted from being articulated as ‘emerging in opposition to the established art world’, to being ‘embedded within the general art world ecology’. I note that this does not, however, negate the political dimension of the self-organised. Taking into consideration that different social and political contexts shape self-organised initiatives, I then go on to contextualise self-organisation in Denmark. To do this, I situate the general accounts of self-organisation in Europe and North America within the framework of the Nordic Model of the Welfare State. This contextualisation is taken as the background against which to contrast my survey findings. In the next section, I present my findings from an online survey that draws out the real life experiences of people working in the field in Denmark. The results of this survey challenged what I identified as three key expectations of the self-organised scene that I had prior to this investigation. These expectations were:

1. The scene would be generously funded

2. The scene was situated within a liberal and progressive society

3. The scene would be discernibly politically orientated and tensions negotiated openly

 

After drawing attention to these major discontinuities between what I had expected and the results from the survey, I then take meter space as an empirical example to kneed out some of these findings and better understand the reasons behind these disparities. Whilst acknowledging there is not a ‘one shoe fits all’ case study, at the same time my meeting with meter does serve to draw out more qualitative results. Through our conversation, we probe into the forces that are shaping the self-organised scene. The topics we touch upon to explain the disparities include: Denmark's reputations of being a progressive state; Danish nationalism; the political agenda of the Arts Council and other governing forces; the role of unions and associations for safeguarding against labour insecurity; and Danish cultural values and forms of sociality.

 

By laying the foundations I hope that this paper will enable further research on how to best support such initiatives in ways that have the potential to make them more sustainable and provide opportunities for all. At the same time, I hope that shedding light on the forces that are shaping the self-organised scene will aid the self-organised scene in finding ways to mobilise against the obstacles they are facing, as well as take advantage of or work with them. Perhaps inadvertently, this paper may even provide a more concrete understanding of the consequences of underfunding the self-organised scene.

 

One final note before I enter the mainstay of this paper: I have not yet spent a year in the country, and the majority of that time has been dominated by a second lockdown. Thus, my experience of Danish culture and the art scene has been limited. There are cultural norms that I am not yet familiar with, as well as body language, gestures, and even silences that hold meaning that go beyond my comprehension of Danish culture. I should also add that I do not speak Danish, and so my personal experiences and research have been mediated by the English language. All interviews and conversations have been conducted in English, and although English is widely spoken here, it may have served as a limitation for my interlocutors when expressing themselves. While for me it means, certain names, places, and untranslatable words that I am unfamiliar with, may have been misheard or misunderstood. This has also meant that I have replied primarily on English language texts and written resources. When this was not possible, I worked with translations.

 

That said, while there will inevitably be gaps and fissures in my research, I have been thorough in my research and sought advice and clarification from those more experienced than myself. Throughout this research and my time in Denmark, many of my Danish friends have explained to me and shared their opinions on the customs, culture and proper forms of sociality in Denmark, to help me familiarise myself with the culture. Many of my opinions and conclusions have been informed by the results from the survey, which was completed by individuals who have worked specifically within the self-organised scene in Denmark. In addition to the survey, I also conducted a number of in-person interviews with key players in the self-organised scene who are far more knowledgeable than myself and have been working in the scene for a long time. Additionally, I have also drawn upon a vast body of relevant literature on self-organisation as well as the history of self-organisation in Denmark, cultural and financial reports on the Danish cultural scene, as well as anthropological and sociological studies on Danish culture. At the same time, however, there are advantages to being a foreigner. Social and cultural norms that are familiar to and ingrained in a Dane and would thus go unrecognised, can instead be more visible to me. Having not internalised Danish values, I also do not feel so restrained or inhibited by them, and there is a freedom to this which allows me to broach certain topics or express myself in slightly more unfiltered ways than a native perhaps could. On top of this, especially since I am a white European immigrant, I have at times been excused from not conforming to Danish sociality. In fact, during this research I found that I was at times ‘granted permission’ to ‘stand out’ or be provocative, something that I was told would not have been extended so willingly to a native.

 

Defining self-organisation

I have compiled the following generic description of a self-organised space by repeating the elements common to many definitions. Specifically, I have drawn upon the publications: Death to the Curator; Artist Run-Europe: practice projects and spaces; Artist-Run Spaces; Nonprofit Collective Organizations in the 1960s and 1970s; Self-organised; Institutions by artists; and Alternative Art NYC 1965-1985. When I use the term self-organised, I am also referring to independent, non-profit and artist-run spaces and initiatives, as well as small or temporary institutions. Despite the centrality of the artist in some of these descriptive titles, such spaces, however, are in no way purely centred on artists. While I recognise that self-organised spaces arise on very different terms and they rarely have the same agenda, my understanding and use of this term encompasses art spaces of a flexible and generally non-commercial nature, which tend to adopt alternative modes of organisation and economies of exchange.[1] As such, these spaces are often founded on a de-centralised collectivity and dissolution of hierarchies.[2] At the same time, such spaces are considered to be leading sites for experimentation, both aesthetically and conceptually, as well as for working methods of contemporary artists, and presentation of artworks.[3] I should add, however, that while such spaces may serve as platforms for artistic experimentation, they may not necessarily abandon the white cube format. What is more, these spaces or initiatives are also considered to play a vital role in the development of the careers of artists, curators and arts administrators, particularly at early stages of their careers. For emerging artists especially, it is not uncommon that their practices are exhibited and nurtured by the self-organised, and then later hoovered up by the established scene.[4]

 

However, it is not all fun and games; self-organised spaces are subject to particularly precarious conditions. Such spaces are in need of funding and resources to continue operating, however, funding is often sporadic and difficult to come by. It is not uncommon that practitioners will be unable to secure themselves a wage for their administrative and curatorial work, and thus have to work multiple and unrelated jobs in order to keep the art space running. This situation forces practitioners into increasingly insecure working and living conditions, and it is widely acknowledged that running an art space is ‘a labour of love’. Such conditions are detrimental to practitioners’ wellbeing and often lead to rapid burnout through stress and exhaustion.[5]

 

The history of self-organisation within Western culture is very much tied to a drive to change hegemonic culture. This is underscored by taking an oppositional stance to dominant institutional power structures and being a critical voice to the established art world and wider socio-political issues.[6] For example, in the 60s, self-organised movements sought to take a stand against the established art world and confront discrimination by establishing alternatives on the outside, and actively making spaces for female artists and artists of colour who were otherwise ignored. They were also known to showcase and nurture cutting-edge and experimental art that was not yet accepted by the established art world, as well as confront the over-commercialisation of art by taking control over the sales of their work.[7] As those examples demonstrate, self-organised movements often operated in solidarity with social and political movements.[8] At the same time, this history is also inextricably bound to the rise of free-market capitalism and the resultant counterculture movements.[9] This essence of the self-organised, is in many ways still present today. As a result of the ensuing neoliberalism and following a large proportion of cuts being directed at the arts and cultural sector, the self-organised has mobilised around adopting inventive models to sustain their cultural activity.[10] Emerging out of a deficit, artists have grouped together to pool resources, and create alternative living, working and exhibiting spaces.

 

However, as Anne Szefer Karlsen argues, although the self-organised started out from an oppositional position, it can no longer be seen to rival or oppose the established art scene.[11] The self-organised is considered vital for knowledge production and artistic development, presenting a necessary set of alternatives to the art institution, museum and commercial gallery, such that it is regarded as an intrinsic part of a pluralistic art scene ecology. In this way, the outside and the established scene are said to be merging. This merging has also manifested through a growing entanglement between institutions and the self-organised spaces. It is not only the case that self-organised spaces are mirroring established institutions,[12] but we are also witnessing collaborations going in the other direction. We are seeing the inclusion of the self-organised initiatives into Biennials, as well as the established art world co-curating exhibitions with artist-run spaces or including them in survey type exhibitions in order to present a ‘whole picture’ of a period or art scene.[13] For example, The Tate Modern’s ‘no soul for sale - a festival of independents’, was an event that invited 70 independent initiatives to take over a spot in the museum’s turbine hall as part of a celebration of the Tate’s first decade of institutional service. More recently, the curatorial project ‘Motherload’ by Copenhagen-based self-organised space YEARS has been included in Louisiana’s "Mor" exhibition. While the benefit of these collaborations is twofold, in that the established art institutions offer visibility to the self-organised scene, and the self-organised improves the image of the institutions as being more cutting edge or even inclusive, the gains are not equal. It is often that the established institutions do little to challenge the precarious situation of the self-organised or offer sustainable support. For example, The Tate didn't offer any financial remuneration to the contributors that participated in ‘no soul for sale’, but relied on the power and prestige of their institutional embrace as compensation.[14] In other words, it is all too common that established institutions temporarily absorb the self-organised into their programmes or champion their values, without reforming their own structural framework so that they actually align with the ethos of the self-organised or provide adequate support or compensation.

 

It is more than just the recognition of the self-organised ‘contribution’ to the art world that has played a role in diluting their oppositional or outsider position. As mentioned earlier, we have seen how capital has heavily influenced the shape, form and precariousness of these spaces. At the same time however, since the 1990s, the neoliberal system itself has appropriated parts of the self-organised strategies of working within it to further strengthen its socio-economic dominance. In other words, because the individualism and competition ingrained within neoliberal societies forces people into increasingly insecure working and living conditions, the self-driven and passionate nature of the self-organised makes them the ideal neoliberal prototype.[15] This has forged a society based on artists’ methods of self-organising, such as flexible hours, working on a project by project basis, and methods of resource sharing. Evidence of this is the emergence of the gig economy, start-up culture and platform capitalism. In sum, the artist strategies that were once deployed to reject the institution and express opposition to it, have now been absorbed by capital to strengthen it, becoming part of the hegemonic. Another dimension to this then, is as the self-organised becomes contaminated by self-enterprise, (which serves as a conduit into the market), some spaces are emerging out of a choice, rather than a deficit or some sort of struggle. Put another way, there is a growing subjectivity and heterogeneity of interests from which the self-organised is emerging.

 

That said, although the oppositional position of the self-organised scene is fraying, the self-organised still play a dominant role in developing skill and methodologies to create alternatives to existing social, political and financial power structures.[16] While the urge to self-organise may not be oppositional, it often stems from a struggle to survive; responding to the political climate and implications of our changing economic situation.[17] Thus, as future making projects influenced by neoliberal forces, they still have a political dimension to them.

 

Contextualising self-organisation in the context of Denmark and the Scandinavian welfare state 

As can be discerned from what I have referenced above, much of the literature on artist-run and self-organised spaces is written in very general terms. Universal descriptions of self-organisation are applied to all modern societies of the Western hemisphere, without drawing attention to the various political contexts and cultural differences, as well as the public’s relationships to the state and authority, that inevitably shape the self-organised scene in these respective places. In order to better understand self-organisation in Denmark, it is thus necessary to take into account the socio-political context that is specific to Scandinavia.

 

The term ‘Nordic countries’, means Denmark, Norway, Sweden, Finland and Iceland, including their associated territories (Svalbard, Greenland, the Faroe Islands and the Åland Islands). The term ‘Scandinavia’ is commonly used for Denmark, Norway and Sweden. Scandinavia is thereby a subset of the Nordic countries. The Nordic model comprises the economic and social policies as well as typical cultural practices common to these countries.[18] Today these states are among the richest countries in the world measured by GDP per capita.[19] Combining international market capitalism with government regulation, these welfare societies are marked by a high level of taxation, large public sectors,[20] extensive and generous welfare systems, and a workforce in which a high percentage is unionised. This system redistributes income and offers citizens social security within open economies, as well as free or affordable public services.[21] What is more, the Scandinavian model is based on an egalitarian ideology,[22] such that Scandinavia has a reputation of liberal open-mindedness; respecting the rights of the individual, being tolerant and valuing social equality and social cohesion.

In Scandinavia public commitment to arts and culture is considered to derive from these countries’ histories as functioning welfare states.[23] Consequently, the Nordic countries are known to have the highest percentages of national spending on culture. Various studies[24] point to a ‘Nordic model’ of cultural policy, in addition to a link with the welfare state, key aspects are an emphasis on equal opportunity, generous support to individual artists taking the form of subsidies, grants and awards, as well as an understanding that public support is a way of compensating for small markets, and is also an important counterweight and safeguard against the pressures of commercial markets.[25]

 

In Denmark, since the 1960s, state support for individual artists has been administered by the Danish Arts Council (Statens Kunstfond). Though artist-run spaces and collectives have been around for decades, the growth in the last few years has been instigated by a number of factors most notably, the ‘Opstart af nye udstillingsplatforme’ (Start Up of New Exhibition Platform).[26] Opstart af nye udstillingsplatforme is designed to support new exhibition platforms which have existed for a maximum of one year, and which have not previously received support. The purpose of the grant is to support the new exhibition platform's start-up and operating costs in the first period of 1-2 years, and afford them the time to gain local support and secure future local funding for operation.[27]

 

What is more, a recent study on the situation of small and medium-sized art centres in Denmark, Norway and Sweden, suggests that there is a real appreciation for self-organised initiatives in the country. The study presents findings from a report by For the Danish Association of Art Centres (FKD), which argues that these spaces are considered to be part of the professionalized art world and “secure the production, circulation and vitality of contemporary art on a national and international level”, such that they belong “to the future of institutional art history”.[28] We can also take away from this that there is a strong emphasis on the self-organised as being part of the art scene ecology rather than as an alternative on the ‘outside’. This is further buttressed by Maibritt Borgen, who in her essay on the history of self-organisation in Denmark, does not include self-organised spaces prior to the 1990s in her understanding of the self-organised today, “because rather than existing with a pluralistic discourse those involved then perceived themselves as posing alternatives to the hegemonic political order”.[29]

 

Through this contextualisation, my pre-assumptions were that the self-organised scene in Denmark would fall nicely into the universal descriptions of self-organisation in the West. Specifically, they would be of a flexible and non-commercial nature, as well as politically orientated but still part of a pluralistic art scene. However, in light of the reputation of the Scandinavian, as founded through the welfare state, I also came to the conclusion there would be a few minor differences. Given Scandinavia’s commitment to art and culture, and appreciation for self-organised initiatives, it would make sense that funding would be widely available. That, and the union culture and social security afforded to citizens, would mean art practitioners would be safeguarded against labour insecurity and precarious working conditions. Again, founded on the reputation of the welfare state, the self-organised would be situated within a liberal and progressive environment, and consequently the self-organised scene in Denmark would be equally if not more politically orientated than elsewhere in the West.

 

Analysis of Online Survey 

In order to get a better grasp on the self-organised scene in Denmark, and to better understand the inconsistencies between what I had anticipated the self-organised scene would be like, and my own experiences once I arrived in Denmark, I conducted an online survey. As part of this process to familiarize myself with the scene, I also visited a number of self-organised spaces and met with the directors, as well as conducted several in-person interviews with a number of key players in the self-organised scene. This included Jakob Jakobsen, who is the founder of OFF Space - an online geographical map and archive of the self-organised and artist-run exhibition platforms in Denmark,[30] and Suada Demirovic who co-organised the festival ‘Artist Run’[31] in Copenhagen in 2014.

 

The survey consisted of an online questionnaire that I sent out to over 30 currently functioning and recently ceased self-organised spaces in Denmark, the majority of which were based in Copenhagen and the surrounding areas. The spaces I contacted were based on recommendations from friends and colleagues, selected from online archives of self-organised spaces in Denmark such as idoart.dk,[32] or had previously participated in events about self-organisation such as CPH_alt[33] and Artist Run. Furthermore, the art spaces that I sent the questionnaire to had to meet at least 3 of the following criteria:

 

1. They were exhibiting or supporting contemporary art practices.

2. They were non-hierarchical in their organisational structure.

3. They were located in a repurposed building, such as garages, stations, laundrettes or did not have a physical space at all.

4. They were either self-funded or being financed through private and public foundations.

5. The number of members did not exceed five.

6. They focused on exhibiting emerging and recently graduated artists.

7. The spaces were temporary or short lived, or at this stage could only guarantee two years of operation.[34]

8. They were more focused on accommodating artists and prioritised artistic experimentation over generating a public.

9. Their public consisted predominantly of art people rather than the general public.

 

The questionnaire inquired into the reasons why the founders opened an art space; the mission of the art space; the context within which the art space opened; the future ambitions for the space; and the expected length of time the space would run for or the reasons for why the art space closed. It also probed into their funding and organisational structures, as well as the art practices they were supporting, the opportunities they believed to be providing, and their relationship to other self-organised spaces as well as established institutions in Denmark.

 

I did not expect the results to be homogenous. Rather, I anticipated that I would receive a range of responses that would give me a broad overview of the plurality of self-organised initiatives taking place in the country, and which captured the specificities that universal descriptions of self-organisation in the West fall short of. Of course, there are limitations to an online questionnaire: The format is restrictive; participants cannot ask for clarification on a question, nor can the interviewer ask that a participant expands on an answer. Written questionnaires also take up a lot of time and the participant may lose interest, which will be reflected in their answers. The interviewee also cannot be observed, meaning words must be taken at face value and additional layers of meaning affirmed through body language and tone are absent. However, for the sake of capturing a general picture within a limited time frame, it served as useful.

 

I received 22 responses, but for the sake of privacy I am keeping the names anonymous. While many of the answers were in line with much of the literature I had read on self-organisation in Europe and North America and my knowledge of the Scandinavian welfare state, there were some striking inconsistencies. That being: the availability of funding; Denmark’s reputation for being a liberal and progressive society; and the openness of political expression of the self-organised scene.

 

Funding Limitations

I was surprised to discover that despite Scandinavia’s reputation for generous arts funding, from the perspective of the self-organised, funding was not so easily available. Over half of the participants had received the ‘Opstart af nye udstillingsplatforme’ grant, and although they expressed gratitude for it, they also made the point that funding was hard to come by after those initial two years.

 

As one participant stated:

“Statens Kunstfond seems to stop any other support, so after a year or two when the start-up funding is used up, it gets really difficult.”

 

On top of that, funding often does not meet the needs of the space or the practitioners, and consequently a lot of work is done unpaid:

“One is always asked to apply for wages (there’s a space on the forms) but almost never receive them.”

 

Another participant expanded on this, arguing that restricted funding was affecting the lifespan of many spaces in Copenhagen: 

“[it is] difficult to get funding after the initial few years. It takes up lots of time and energy which is not always sustainable, particularly if you are not paid. There’s only so much time artists can/will put their energy into making opportunities for others at the expense of their own practice/career.”

 

Contesting Denmark’s Progressive Reputation

The next finding that stood out to me was for the reason that it stood in contrast to the common conception of Denmark as a liberal and progressive society: it was suggested that it was difficult to receive funding because there is a hesitancy to fund exhibitions that are perceived as “too critical” or “radical”.

 

One participant stated:

“I think many of the private foundations are far too conservative in the projects that [they] select to support, and this is a difficult issue when working in the field of contemporary art.”

 

Another space presented the opinion that:

“The PMC neoliberals who manage the art world [are] overly bureaucratic, conservative, normative, and just simply stated [have] boring attitudes.”

 

This reminded me of a comment an interlocutor made in a previous interview:

“we need to talk about the limited funding opportunities for critical or politically motivated exhibitions.”[35]

 

The responses surprised me. To be progressive requires constant revision and an openness to change, as opposed to maintaining things as they are.[36] I would have assumed then, that Denmark would be encouraging of critique and open to new ideas.

 

Lack of Open Political Expression:

One final disparity that I took away from the survey, which also ties in with the previous one, was the reluctance of the self-organised to articulate themselves in overtly political terms. When asked if their space was responding to specific socio-political happenings, or out of a desire to create alternatives to existing social, political and financial power structures, the majority of responses brushed over the political orientation of this question. Rather, they took it upon themselves to emphasise they were not in opposition to the established art scene, but were instead providing a space that can cater to artistic experimentation.

 

As one space put it:

“I don't really think we are in opposition to the art scene, but we have from the beginning had an awareness of the format, and playing with [that] by installing a coffee machine in the room.”

 

Another space backed this up and then went onto acknowledge the seemingly less political nature of the Danish art scene:

“We were more interested in providing a gallery space with a solid framework for the artists…In Hamburg we experienced that it was considered a more political[ly] active gesture to run an art space than what we had experienced in Denmark.”

 

Those answers that were more politically orientated or acknowledged the capacity of the self-organised to bring about change, were vague and expressed in very objective terms. For example one response was:

“Instead of just relying on the existing canals, you can create canals yourself with an artist-run space. So there is definitely an aspect of taking action in the field and trying to influence it.”

 

Again, I would have thought that a society with a reputation for being progressive would be unreservedly vocal and explicit in terms of political opinion. Many participants had acknowledged the injustices the self-organised scene were facing, so there was certainly not a lack of issues to mobilise around. Although it may not be the reason as to why those within the self-organised scene are reluctant to openly express themselves politically, it is worth noting that it was suggested that the capacity for the self-organised scene to engage with other self-organised spaces, collectively organise and exchange knowledge was being affected by limited funding. Such that most spaces tended to be inward focused and keep to themselves.

 

As one space commented:

“We were always a bit self-centred, mostly because of lack of time…it’s difficult to keep up the pro bono work for many years – when you have to balance family life, money, jobs and your own artistic practice.” They go on to say that “We enjoyed that so many artist-run spaces arose – it definitely felt like there was a collective energy and need that we were part of, even though we didn't take part as such.”

 

The survey results were quite vague, and I ended up feeling more confused than when I started. Despite the progressive reputation of Denmark, the impression I was getting from the self-organised scene was that the art scene was governed by conservative powers. Funding was also not nearly as readily available as I had thought, and this was not only placing the self-organised in precarious situations, but their capacity to organise seemed to be restricted. On top of this there was a reluctancy from the self-organised to articulate themselves in overtly political terms. Many of these findings seemed interrelated, however I didn’t really get an insight into or an explanation as to why things were the way they were and what was behind these disparities. In order to smooth out some of these findings and add clarity to this vagueness, I then conducted a more thorough in-person interview with meter space.

 

Case Study: meter

I chose to use meter space as my case study because not only is it a relatively new space, but the current director is Louise Lassen Iversen; a key figure in the self-organised scene in Denmark and also a board member of Offspace.

 

I met Louise at Kontor Nr.25, a working community and office space in Nørrebro. Kontor Nr.25 had been set up by herself and Rie Hovmann Rasmussen who also co-founded meter, and it was here, in the adjacent rooms, that the exhibition space of meter was once located. It was an overcast day, and I had been caught in a downpour on my way to the office. As Louise opened the door I was concerned she would be taken aback by my dishevelled appearance, but she ushered me in, as if into her home and I instantly fell into place. We exchanged small talk, while together we gathered mugs and glasses for coffee and water. We set ourselves up in one of the side rooms and began by checking in with each other. As we sat down she confessed that she felt a bit underprepared for this interview. Still a little flustered from my bike ride, and in the process of getting out my laptop and notes, I felt consoled by this display of vulnerability. I followed suit. With honesty and putting aside any professional pretence, I assured her that it was going to be very informal, and that I myself still didn't fully know what I was trying to weed out from the conversation. I introduced her to my findings and explained that I wanted to better understand what I suspected were interlinking themes, but that I expected that we would just ramble from topic to topic, pausing intuitively to dig deeper when it felt like we struck a chord.

 

She took the lead and began by introducing me to meter. Louise and Ria had launched the space in 2017, and from 2017-2019 meter took the form of a physical exhibition space.[37] The decision to open their own space was based on their experiences of feeling unwelcome at some gallery spaces. Whether that was a self-organised space or a larger more established gallery, they sometimes got the impression they had crashed a private party, or were simply invisible. In contrast the wanted to create a space were anyone was welcome, whether you knew them personally or not. With that, and inspired by feminist, queer and decolonial theory, care became a central component to their working methodology and curatorial approach. In addition to creating a space that was inviting to everyone, the mission of the space was also to slow down and give time to both the artists and the public, and the artworks and their contextualisation. As such, meter’s programme was, and still is, characterised by extended exhibition periods of between 4-6 months that critically examine society around us. The long durational aspect of these exhibitions allow for reflection and contemplation, and for the artworks to be approached from multiple perspectives. In its current form, however, meter has no physical space. Rather, it is a fluid curatorial platform that pollinates and reworks other art spaces and cultural institutions. Often working in collaboration with others, the focus is on securing a mutually beneficial space for learning across disciplines that encourages these other initiatives to work with the concepts and values that meter works from.

 

With this background covered, I asked why the physical space itself had been closed down after only two years. We exchanged words slowly, giving each other time to think and speak. I wasn't surprised by the answer, however. As a new and established space they were able to receive Staten Kunstfond’s Opstart af nye udstillingsplatforme grant for those initial years, without which it would not have been possible to launch meter. However, they soon realised that the amount of time that it took and the amount of support they could obtain was not large enough for them to actually run. And although they could pay the artist small fees, they were unable to pay themselves. Closing the physical space was thus a result of realising the conditions we were working in were unsustainable and a way of taking themselves seriously and taking care of themselves.

 

On the surface, the Opstart af nye udstillingsplatforme seems like a great initiative to motivate the creation of new culture in Denmark and support the self-organised scene. However, the grant is essentially a one-off handout that does not extend over more than two years, besides this there is nothing to suggest that Statens Kunstfond has any real interest in seeing these spaces survive.[38] One could thus argue that funding bodies are not taking responsibility for what they help start, and question the motive behind the grant. As Louise pointed out, this may be a city planning strategy. She suggested that, for the city council and municipalities, there is a benefit to these spaces being so temporary. Specifically, that something new is constantly being produced. Put another way, the knowledge and experiences that these spaces generate does not matter for the people who support them, what matters to them is the idea of newness and the production of culture for giving identity to the city. This resonated with me, James Schofield wrote about something similar. He argued that support such as this from governing bodies is a strategy to impose processes such as art-washing and gentrification on the city, in order to generate profits to help stimulate the economy toward another boom period.[39] While it might at first seem like a generous offering, the neoliberal system is in fact taking advantage of the self-organised strategies of working, which ultimately means they create a lot of culture for the state and municipalities for far too little money. From this perspective, the grant certainly serves as a city planning strategy. While at first it seems like a great opportunity, the needs of the self-organised scene and its practitioners however are not really the centre of concern. Most of the money goes on rent, rather than to the people running the space or the exhibiting artists, so who actually gets the money, where is it being spent?

 

Louise listened as I expressed my surprise at this, and that it was inconsistent with Scandinavia’s reputation for generous arts funding. While she agreed that funding in Denmark is better than in a lot of other countries, she pointed me in the direction of an article in KunstKritik. The article argues that although Scandinavia has a long-standing democratic tradition of supporting art education, artists, and art institutions, there are substantial differences between the Scandinavian countries when it comes to state funding of art. In 2018, when the national budgets for were passed in the Norwegian and Swedish parliaments there were substantial increases in the funds allocated to their Ministries of Culture. Whereas in Denmark, all art institutions were subject to the government’s overall policy of cutbacks, and the few increases in the budget were mainly concerned with preserving cultural heritage and with events with national and/or historical leanings.[40]

 

Denmark thus provides the least funding, and visual artists are some of the lowest paid professions in the country. This is partly due to the history of arts funding and establishment of the Danish Arts Council, which historically focused on the status of art in public construction, rather than improving working conditions for Danish creative artists.[41] At the same time, in 1964 a new Danish Arts Council (DAC) was established to replace the previous one.

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The scope of the new DAC, which allocates state support to artists, was extended to cover all “creative artists”, including those in the fields of literature, theatre, music, and architecture.[42] Inevitably, this affected the rate of accepted applications and the distribution of grants. A report on the Nordic Model for Supporting Artists, shows that while visual arts, crafts and design together stand for over half of all applications, these areas also have the lowest levels of accepted applications. Architecture and classical music are the fields with the highest rate of acceptance, in which over half of the applications were accepted.[43]

 

I mentioned that these difficulties that the self-organised scene in Denmark is facing could easily provide the momentum for political action. I was familiar with the self-organised being a scene that is integral to the art scene ecology, and also associated with being a critical voice to the established art world and wider socio-political issues.[44] However, I had observed that in the case of Denmark there seems to be a reluctance to be politically vocal or position oneself as oppositional. Louise was quick to respond. She agreed that it may appear that “there is a lot of silence within the art world - or a lack of being open about criticism” but she went on to argue that it is there, but that “we often handle it away from the spotlight”.

 

She went on to explain that when they started meter space it was very important that they were not in opposition to the already existing institutions, but that meter was still political. This brought me back to the tendency within public discourse to conflate ‘oppositional’ and ‘political’. To be political, however, is not necessarily to be oppositional. In her opinion, to be in opposition is to take on the white cube, however at meter “we would rather continue working with this traditional exhibition format, but create new ways of thinking about the institution instead of protesting the form of the white cube.” She had seen attempts to create alternative spaces or criticism towards the institution by being in opposition or trying to work outside of the institution, but that they hadn't been successful in breaking down the institution they were criticising.

 

For meter, it is the criticality within their working processes that makes them political, which is rooted in a framework based on care. More specifically: at meter they ensure minority voices are present and there is equal representation of men and women; they only work with people if they can pay them; and they take into consideration who they are working with as a person and not only as an art professional, and are thus conscious of their struggles in everyday life. Care is also practiced by giving time. That means working within a time frame that people are comfortable with and which accommodates their personal life, respecting the time that goes into making an artwork and attempting to slow down the tempo of production by having long durational exhibitions; and alleviating the pressure to produce by exhibiting old works rather than continuously being on the search for the new. In this way, being political is in the small things you don't necessarily see, but part of the end product. Thus, while meter may not be loudly critical of the art world or established institutions, they express their politics through their internal practices. It is “a caring and quiet activism” she concluded.

 

I probed further to better understand why political action is manifesting in this way. As we broached this topic, her voice lowered to barely above a whisper, as was also the case when this topic came up with Jakob Jakobsen and Suada Demirovic. “It can be seen as a strategy”, she explained. “There is a general view that art and politics should be kept separate, and if you are very loud about your protest there tends to be huge backlash both from within the art world, and people who you think would share the same political views as you… the energy of resistance is so intense and you get shut down so easily”.

 

She pointed to the example from October 2020 when a bust of Frederick V, King of Denmark (1746-1766), which stood in the ceremonial hall of the Royal Danish Academy of Fine Arts was torn down and sunk into the nearby harbour. It was an artistic and de-colonial protest by a group of students who go by the name, ‘Anonymous Visual Artists’. In a video documenting the event, they explained that the purpose of the action was to call upon the art world to take responsibility, not only for the actions of the past, but for the ways in which Denmark’s colonial history is still active today.[45] Throughout the weeks that followed, however, outrage ensued. Leading art institutions, conservative politicians and liberal and right-wing media widely condemned the action as an attempt to erase history through iconoclasm, and undermined the action by describing it as the outcome of a “distorted worldview and extreme political activism”.[46] The Danish artist, Bjørn Nørgaard, even likened the Anonymous Visual Artists to “Daesh”.[47] As events escalated, Katrine Dirckinck-Holmfeld, a professor at the academy, took responsibility for the action and on the same day was fired.[48] This spurred one of the major daily newspapers to call for her to be ‘locked up’.[49]

 

We broke the intensity of this discussion by laughing at the extremity of the situation. But this was not a one off event. Another example of resistance to the coupling of art and politics, can be encapsulated in an article from conservative periodical Weekendavisen. The premise of which was that The Danish Academy of Fine Arts was being threatened by identity politics, creating a hostile learning environment that was not only resulting in artistic stagnation but also posing a powerful threat to society. [50] One of the harsher critics was the artist Tal R, who graduated from the academy over 20 years ago. He argued that “the majority of the students in there are not interested in art, but in sitting around and discussing why there are not enough lifts for the disabled” before concluding that artistic quality was in free fall.[51] However, as a current student pointed out, those who advocate that art and politics should be kept apart speak from a privileged perspective: “The idea that art can be neutral is only possible if the artist falls within all societal norms”. She argued that being a minority in Danish society and at the academy means that her art will automatically be read from that position. Therefore, “the discussion that art should be apolitical in its starting point is neither possible nor particularly fair”.[52]

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It may be true that cancel-culture has gone too far at the academy, and has created a hostile learning environment. If this is the case, the debate taking place should be about cancel-culture itself, and how strategies such as public shaming and no platforming can be detrimental to socio-political movements and damaging to the lives of individuals.[53] Even if to challenge structural oppression, cancel-culture shuts down discussion and is unlikely to lead to any meaningful change. This, however, is not the conversation that is being had in public debate, which is instead focused on how art and politics should be kept separate, because it poses a threat to both artistic quality and society.[54]

 

As these examples demonstrate, those who attempt to raise awareness of the structural oppression dominating Danish institutions are being met by some very violent and aggressive responses. These reactions serve to actively silence the voices that seek to render visible inequalities in society and prevent art from being a platform through which to engage with politics.

 

I mentioned to Louise how this did not match up with the ‘image’ of Denmark. She agreed elaborating on my comment, “this is our big problem; our image of ourselves and that other countries have of Denmark, as being the frontrunners of social equality is so strong it’s almost impossible to criticise." Criticism of Denmark’s institutions in 2021 comes at a time of increasing nationalism. Denmark’s reputation of being a progressive state, is also the foundation of what are considered to be ‘core Danish values’. These values: being liberal, tolerant, and valuing social equality and social cohesion, are playing a vital role in current Danish nationalism.[55] The rise of nationalism has been fuelled by the increasing penetration of global corporate capitalism, and a surge in immigration - especially by those of Muslim backgrounds.[56] Both of these factors are considered to be a threat to Danish values or ‘true Danish identity’, and a disruptive element hindering enjoyment of the authentic national culture.[57] This belief that Danishness will perish, is driving a need to protect Danish values, tradition, history, and cultural heritage, which is manifesting as a decline in the acceptance of refugees and immigrants and linked to current debates about integration. Essentially, Danish nationalism, is in itself, weakening and standing in opposition to the very values it seeks to protect. To make matters more complicated, as nationalism is on the surge and lessening tolerance towards others, it is believed that criticism of this and thus Denmark’s self-perceived social egalitarianism, draws attention to social division in society, which is seen to weaken the community and challenge the social cohesion of the nation.[58] All things considered, this is creating a triple bind sort of situation; nationalist attempts to protect Danish egalitarian values ultimately undermine these values, but drawing attention to the discrimination arising out of Danish nationalism is taken as an attack on these same Danish values. It is not surprising then, that those in the art world who are drawing attention to racism and challenging the reputation of Denmark are finding it so difficult.

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While criticism is seen to threaten social cohesion, as Louise mentioned, there is also a general perception that inequality is non-existent. In a study by Tina Gudrun Jensen, Kristina Weibel & Kathrine Vitus, they argue that Denmark’s reputation of being a progressive state, as founded through a well-developed welfare system, has informed the perception that inequality is non-existent in Denmark.[59] Another study by Jeppe Trolle Linnet, goes on to argue that because this reputation is so intrinsic to Danish identity there is a reluctance to have this shattered, resulting in an almost impenetrable denial of such inequalities existing within Danish society.[60] In other words, with nationalism on the rise creating a hostility to critiquing Denmark's progressive reputation, and a general belief that inequality is non-existent in Denmark, it is no wonder that those in the self-organised scene who seek to expose structural oppression or inequalities within the art world and society are being met with such resistance.

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Denmark's reluctance to acknowledge inequalities and its fear that social coherence could be threatened, can also be understood in terms of the way equality is equated with sameness in a Scandinavian social context. Marianne Gullestad argues that in Scandinavia, equality is cast as ‘same-ness’.[61] This means that in order to feel equal and to establish a sense of community people develop an interactional style where social sameness is displayed and signs of difference or inequalities are suppressed. Consequently, drawing attention to differences or inequalities is understood to serve the same purpose as critiquing Denmark’s progressive reputation, that being to disrupt social cohesion. Furthermore, the notion of ‘hygge’ also contributes another angle from which to approach Denmark’s resistance to acknowledging inequality and reluctance towards confrontation. The closest translation of hygge is ‘cosiness’. As a verb, it denotes the activity of being together in an easy-going relaxed way yet not in an overly exciting manner, such as playing board games or reading together. More relevantly, hygge indexes a category of cultural practices that, in various ways, entail the creation of temporary ‘shelters’ against social stratification, competition, and the market. It is an everyday sociality that is concerned with creating a safe, balanced and harmonious environment, free from disagreement or dissent.[62] There are lots of positive aspects of hygge, however, as Linnett argues, hygge culture also serves to have wider societal ramifications. That being it can serve as a mechanism for egalitarian social control, which suppresses difference and disallows confrontation or dissent.[63]

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As demonstrated, there are multiple factors contributing to what can be perceived as an apoliticality or a silence within the self-organised scene in Denmark. Collectively, these factors point to an adversity within Danish society towards acknowledging inequalities, and disrupting social cohesion or harmony, which to varying degrees make it difficult for the self-organised to be openly political. In other words, to be confrontational or overtly political in Denmark goes against Danish values, and is subject to an extreme backlash. It made sense then, how Louise argued that durational and quieter protests are a strategy to still punch holes into the system. It may take more time to address structural oppression, inequalities or precarious labour conditions, however in this context, it may be the most viable way of managing a system that is so hard to work against.

 

I pointed out that other sectors of Danish society are not immune to Denmark’s mechanism for suppressing dissent and acknowledging inequalities, but had still managed to organise for better workers’ rights. Why in particular had the art world fallen so short? Echoing many of the responses from the survey, Louise agreed that lack of funding of course made it difficult to organise. However, she also pointed out that a way of organising around workers’ rights and safeguarding against labour insecurity in Denmark is through unions. For example, there is the union for performing arts, The Danish Artist Union, which represents professional artists, in music, circus, theatre, TV and radio.[64] The Danish Artist Union works to improve conditions for performing artists in cultural policy contexts; establish agreements between artists and employers that regulate payment, working conditions and copyrights involved in productions; and also provide an unemployment fund, insurance, pensions, career development, courses and training. However, this does not include the visual arts. In fact, no union existed for the visual arts. There are a couple of associations, this includes Billedkunstnernes Forbund (BKF). BKF is the largest association for visual artists in Denmark, which aims to influence current policies in a way that enhances economic and social security for visual artists and to protect artistic freedom in general,[65] although they have been criticised for having a very narrow conception of visual art. Consequently, Jakob Jakobsen founded the Organisation for Kunstnere, Kuratorer og Kunstformidlere (UKK)[66] as a breakout organisation, which focuses on contemporary art and supports a broader description of visual artists. The problem is that both these organisations are associations and not unions, because of this they have a great lack of power. They don't have the power to negotiate artist salaries or the terms and conditions of labour, they can only create recommendations. The closest that artists can get to joining an actual union is through the journalist union. Inquiring into the reason as to why there is no union for the visual arts is, however, beyond the scope of this paper.

 

Our conversation turned into speculating about ways we could set the art world straight, before trailing off into friendly chit chat. Compelled to write up these notes and think alone for a while, I asked if there was anything else she wanted or felt needed to be mentioned. I thanked Louise for giving me her time, carried away our empty glasses into the kitchen, and then ventured back out into the rain.