We don’t have a culture of feeding people

Some thoughts and experiences on designing radical hospitality for institutions.

Frederick Janka, Arts Advocate and Cultural Producer

Having worked most of my career in museums, galleries, and arts nonprofits, I come from a background in professional hospitality, where the general assumption is that one should spend resources on wealthy donors as a tool for cultivating and soliciting support. Artists and staff are often invited as well, but usually as fillers or conversation starters. Events that center artists seem to be a radical idea, and while dinners and parties just for artists do happen, they are few and far between. It makes me think: can we normalize feeding artists (and institutional staff) while removing hierarchical barriers based on capital gain?

A recent situation occurred during the research phase of a large-scale exhibition project. A group of curators incorporated group meals into a program of in-depth work retreats, youth professional development opportunities, and group research. When it came time for accounting and reporting, the institution’s department supervisor balked at the use of funds for meals, saying: “We don’t have a culture of feeding people!” Even though, according to funding and institutional guidelines, there were line allocations for meals. To this supervisor, feeding staff, artists, and community members was a “misallocation of resources,” and definitely not part of the institutional culture they participated in.

How do you define radical hospitality as it pertains to institutions? I strongly believe that it starts with showing, as an institution, that you care by providing a multi-sensory experience that honors and celebrates our shared humanity. We’re feeling-first creatures, it’s who we are.

Let’s imagine it is normal to feed your exhibiting artists, your staff, and your communities. I’m not just talking about bread lines and soup kitchens, but times when it makes the most sense to host. When does it make sense? I believe its when the institution is asking for something. Asking for engagement, for extra effort, or for teamwork and team growth. And feeding doesn’t mean a block of cheese and some crackers. Take time to get to know some local private chefs, home cooks, and restaurants. Build those relationships with purveyors of delicious and nutritious food. We often forget the critical impact that food has on our bodies, our minds, and our emotions. In our age of radical self-care, institutions need to consider all of the impacts institutions have on the physical, social, and emotional well-being of the people they employ. And while they're at it, do something better.

There was a point in my career when I realized that my supervisor and director did not care about people. They didn’t care about the well-being of our team, of the experience of hosting artists, nor that of visitors and patrons. All of whom, to varying degrees, were expected to sustain a high level of engagement or productivity within the confines of a space that could not be adequately climate controlled. It was such a shock to me because at that time I assumed that, especially in the art world, one had to care about people (especially the leader). People make art, people care for art, people visit and experience art. It’s a people business from start to finish. My call for the institution to care first seems obvious to me, because when you care you actually get more return on your investment than you could possibly imagine.

Welcoming

A side note: providing something for free is not necessarily welcoming. I learned this when engaging with different communities about why or why they didn’t visit our free museum. First of all, if they drove they probably had to pay for parking, they more than likely had fear of getting parking tickets (due to cost), and they also often couldn’t afford the time off work. We can’t just expect people to show up because we’re not charging admission. How do we make a true welcoming “welcome”?

When we welcome our audience to our institutions, it's because we want to be in community with them and because we want to both listen and share. We’ve intentionally spent time researching and preparing objects and stories to create dialog. So if our goal and desire is to share, shouldn’t we consider why we want to share and why we think our audiences would want to learn or experience these objects and stories?

When audiences do arrive, what are we offering to enhance their experience or thank them for coming? Have we greeted them? Have we provided anything culturally appropriate or culturally accessible? Are there places to linger, are there moments for wonder and curiosity? How does the space feel? In a more intimate exchange of welcome, I appreciate seeing an offer of water or something to drink. Or someplace to sit, like a circle or dialog to be welcomed into. Has a host identified themselves? Have introductions been made? I apologize if these seem like no-brainers, but in my experience, even the most obvious appears to escape many.

I know from my own experiences that I don’t like a “hard sell.” I like going in and out, looking for things to enhance my experience on my own terms. I think an important thing to consider is what can we offer that is an optional tool and not a forced or didactic one? Sometimes it’s important to imagine ourselves in other’s shoes: how would we feel welcome?

The role of institutional welcome for artists is a fraught one. The burden of content is placed almost exclusively on their shoulders and yet slim amounts of institutional budgets are allocated for their time and care. When we truly welcome Artists, we describe parameters and resources upfront. We allocate resources for quality—if not luxurious—travel, accommodations, and meals. We offer space for retreat and nurturing, and most importantly, we listen.

Hosting

What does it mean to host? I believe it has a lot to do with your welcome and what you have communicated to your guest. Institutions encounter the need to host on many occasions: from the audience experience detailed above, to special events, visiting artists and colleagues, etc. Hosting means providing that welcome, and spending a little more time considering the experience that your guest will walk away with. For the most part, you’re going to want them going home thinking your institution was kind, warm, thoughtful…what else? What would make you want to go back, continue a conversation, or work with an institution?

When hosting artists and providing artist accommodations, I recall a time when a museum trustee, who lived in a multi-million dollar estate with countless bedrooms, offered to host an exhibiting artist. I trusted that the accommodations would be sufficient and even luxurious. I was very mistaken, as I received a call from the artist letting me know they had booked a hotel on their own for the night. What I came to understand is that the trustee had taken the artist, a Black artist, to the quarters above their garage which was sort of casually set up for perhaps in-home staff or as a rental, but definitely not as guest quarters.

After this incident, I learned several important lessons. The first was not to trust what people say about their guest quarters and make sure to inspect them personally. The second was that artists often prefer the opportunity to stay in a hotel, and a luxurious one at that (no Red Roof Inns or Motel 6s, remember that one, please).

Planning a dinner (for example)

Some questions to ask: do your guests understand why they are being invited? Is the invitation in the voice of the institution or an individual from the institution? What is the end goal? Have you made the effort to engage with said guest in the past? Do they know who you are? Do they know the people they are seated with, or is this just to fill up tables?

If there is something requested, I think it’s important to really start by building a relationship, not just going in for the kill. Find ways and opportunities to welcome, and host. Is there some form of engagement that can be provided in advance? And so maybe your first welcome and hosting opportunity is a dinner party. Then let’s make it a pleasure-filled evening! Delicious beverages, mocktails for the non-drinkers, nutritious and colorful food, and a gift for your guests to take home. I have learned that it’s important for those who may have been historically oppressed and marginalized, or those you are asking something specific from, that they leave with a tangible gift. And a check is always welcome.

As a way to close out my thoughts, I would also like to address the practical concern of planning, and the need for vendors and purveyors. I would argue that it is imperative that all institutions make a radical change in where they allocate their resources for services. Let’s all put our resources into businesses and individuals of color. Look first for those chefs, florists, designers, and rental companies that are owned by black women, then anyone of color after that. Just do it, don’t ask questions. Culturally, we have historically been oppressing and marginalizing some of the most innovative and talented creative souls: let’s change that narrative.

I see a bright, caring, and abundant future, and I look forward to sharing it with you as we take this seismic shift toward designing a radical hospitality culture.