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Meet Norma Miller, the Woman who Transcribed all 113,361 Words of #Superscript15

Inspiring weekend at #superscript15 everything was recorded A video posted by Lauren Thorson (@laurenthorson) on May 30, 2015 at 6:13pm PDT Employing stenographers has become de rigeur at conferences nowadays. Seasoned veteran stenographer Norma Miller has been transcribing every single word that’s been said at Superscript for audiences following the conference via live stream. “And yesterday […]

Inspiring weekend at #superscript15 everything was recorded

A video posted by Lauren Thorson (@laurenthorson) on

Employing stenographers has become de rigeur at conferences nowadays. Seasoned veteran stenographer Norma Miller has been transcribing every single word that’s been said at Superscript for audiences following the conference via live stream. “And yesterday that included 55,826 words. So I’m glad we’re not paying by the word,” joked conference organizer and Walker Art Center Editor Paul Schmelzer, alluding to recurring debates about critics’ wages. In his remarks, he challenged the audience to shout out artspeak to stump Miller. “Anyone?”

“Recontextualizations.”

“Liminality!”

“Zombie Formalism.”

The words appeared on screen as soon as they were yelled out.

During a break from typing out what would eventually total 113,361 words, I pulled Miller aside to ask her about the practice of stenography and how its increasing employment by institutions might indicate that they’re becoming just a tad bit less ableist.

A Post-Descriptive ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

In his Superscript keynote on “Post-Descriptive Criticism,” Ben Davis posited that the image might supplant description in art criticism today. At one point, he discussed using only images rather than words, citing his (“failed”) Instagram experiments as attempts to “take images and create a form of writing with images.” Here’s my post-descriptive response to his seminar. The Superscript Blog […]

In his Superscript keynote on “Post-Descriptive Criticism,” Ben Davis posited that the image might supplant description in art criticism today. At one point, he discussed using only images rather than words, citing his (“failed”) Instagram experiments as attempts to “take images and create a form of writing with images.”

Here’s my post-descriptive response to his seminar.

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The Superscript Blog Mentorship program, a partnership with Hyperallergic, is presented as part of

A Quick Chat with Superscript Keynote Speaker James Bridle

For artist James Bridle, technology is the means of examining the invisible in social and political domains, such as the locations of drone strikes and the technical systems that mine our data. In his most recent project he reflects on citizenship—its relative fixity as well as its instability. Sam Wisneski: In the past, you’ve written that the New Aesthetic seeks to make […]

James Bridle, writer, artist, publisher and technologist based in London, UK. Photo credit: Steve Forest, Workers’ Photos

James Bridle, writer, artist, publisher, and technologist, and one of the Superscript15 keynote speakers (photo by Steve Forest, Workers’ Photos)

For artist James Bridle, technology is the means of examining the invisible in social and political domains, such as the locations of drone strikes and the technical systems that mine our data. In his most recent project he reflects on citizenship—its relative fixity as well as its instability.

Sam Wisneski: In the past, you’ve written that the New Aesthetic seeks to make the invisible—insidious systems and assumptions we take for granted—visible. Would you say this guides most of your work?

James Bridle: Yes, but it’s also the part of my work that I have the biggest problem with, actually. In hindsight, it’s been the kind of a defining principle of it. I come from a technological background, and one of the things that learning tech does is teaches you to read the structures of things, to break them down and figure out how things are made. (It’s engineering, basically.) If you start to widen that a bit, you start to see it in everything, not just inside of technology, but inside of politics, too. And so, it seems necessary if you’re going to be representing stuff, to represent those things that lie behind it in some way. That turns out to be really useful, because once you apply that skill to one domain, you can start to apply it all over. Invisibility seems like such a built-in principle of our politics and technologies today—they’re kind of designed to disappear from sight. The critical job is to make them visible so that they can be articulated, discussed, and contextualized. The flip side is that I’m not sure it’s working; that’s what I’m trying to figure out at the moment.

SW: How did you decide what to talk about today?

JB: This conference has gone in various interesting directions. After yesterday morning, I was like, “What am I doing here? This seems quite focused on the business of criticism.” There was a bit more critical discussion in the keynote yesterday afternoon that sort of opened it up to the questions of “Why do we have art criticism?” and “What are we doing here?”

I thought some of the talks this morning addressed really serious issues, so I’m going to desperately try to pull a few of those things together. I don’t know if I’ll be at all successful at doing this—at trying to bridge a gap between them. “How do we do criticism today?” — that was essentially the question that was raised by the keynote. “What is it that we’re looking at and how do we articulate it?” Figuring that out seems like part of what critics do and get paid for, which was the question yesterday. Equally, we need to address the sorts of issues that were raised by the speakers this morning. All of those seem part and parcel to the same debate and discussion. Ultimately, I didn’t want to talk about my work because I talk about my work all the time, and I don’t want to just talk about my personal journey. But at the same time, my work is how I think through these things.

SW: Speaking of your work, do you want to talk about your new project Citizen-Ex?

JB: I’ve become really interested in citizenship. The thing about this visibility/invisibility thing is that it assumes these things are fixed categories, that there is something here that will magically make it visible and magically make it okay. But that denies the underlying precarity of these situations. “Citizen-Ex” is based on quite a materialist analysis of the Internet. It talks about the physical installations of these things and that whole discourse, because that’s a useful way of bringing it to bear on other things that feel fixed—like serious laws and human rights issues and stuff like this.

By taking this and then building an algorithmic citizenship concept out of it, the project points, hopefully, to the instability and gets across the fact that these things are unstable but also kind of controllable—at the moment they’re being controlled and dictated by corporate power, political power, state power… If we were to understand them on different terms, we might actually have some parallel understanding of that instability.

The Superscript Blog Mentorship program, a partnership with Hyperallergic, is presented as part of

Who Gets to Be a Critic?

“Adding any words to this paper would make it less white than this fucking conference,” read an anonymously type-written note submitted at the Superscript opening party, Everyone’s a Critic. This #sorrynotsorry dis prompts the question of who is included in “everyone”? Who is actually here at this conference, and what does a quick glance around […]

(Image via Congrats, you have an all male panel!)

“Adding any words to this paper would make it less white than this fucking conference,” read an anonymously type-written note submitted at the Superscript opening party, Everyone’s a Critic. This #sorrynotsorry dis prompts the question of who is included in “everyone”? Who is actually here at this conference, and what does a quick glance around the auditorium tell us about the state of professional criticism? Mostly white people—on stage, mostly white dudes—and, as we say in Canada, the “friends of the museum” who can afford it. If, according to Buzzfeed Books editor Isaac Fitzgerald, the Internet has allowed us all to participate in this “giant garden party,” why isn’t that reflected here?

The critics and editors who are asked to be presenters and panelists at conferences the size of Superscript are approached in their capacity as professional voices of authority who can dispense pointers from their well of expertise. So, as an emerging critic, I attend these symposia with ears pricked up for their tips and tricks, while also taking note of broad, abstract issues and ideas; events like these helpfully situate the art and criticism that I consume online within a tangible IRL context.

Journalism 101 advice like “don’t be afraid to point fingers” can be casually doled out by a veteran critic whose newspaper column isn’t supported by ads, for example, allowing him to critique whatever he wants without his hands tied behind his back, like so many other critics working today. But as a young woman of color (WOC)—though not without the passing privilege of an appearance that’s ethnically ambiguous and a hard-to-place accent—I could only take this kind of advice with a grain of salt. In most North American institutional settings, the power dynamic is often slightly to not-so-slightly lopsided out of my favor, so that I hesitate to step on toes even when I am encouraged to real-talk.

Other people watching the conference had similar reactions. I e-vibed with Adrianne Russell, a self-described “museum evangelist” and “social media bon vivant” whose tweets were some of the most apt ones I saw throughout the day:

AdrianneRussell-tweet

While the one thing that the panelists of the Superscript opener “Credibility, Criticism, Collusion” concurred on is the idea that the Internet is a platform that enables everyone to be a critic, via Yelp or Metacritic or Amazon (i.e. hot-or-not “service criticism” that is discovery oriented and geared toward readers seeking recommendations and ratings), it’s hard not to ask: What distinguishes the academically trained, “professional” critic? Whose voice is awarded sway and authority, and whose voice is rarefied by a paywall? And therefore, whose labor is financially compensated?

Going forward, I urge you, presenters and sanctioned voices of authority, to consider that the receiving end of the advice you’re dispensing isn’t the universal, unmarked recipient who has at her infinite disposal the means to implement your directions. Please recognize that identities with different intersections of race, class, gender, and ability allow for varying degrees of luxury to effortlessly generate the kind of unrepentant, adverse criticism that you advocate is crucial for the robustness—and future—of this discipline. Marginalized voices are and should be capable of producing robust criticism, but we need more considerate, nuanced advice to figure out how to do so safely.

The Superscript Blog Mentorship program, a partnership with Hyperallergic, is presented as part of

Four Haiku on Sustainability, Growth, and Ethics

Because there is too much fucking information out there, let’s stop and learn from the Japanese wisdom of saying more with less. We don’t have to be all-encompassing; we can write haiku. My poetic interpretations of today’s presentations on “Sustainability, Growth and Ethics“:   Veken Gueyikian, Hyperallergic Online art ads suck; Transparent and relevant Are the […]

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Because there is too much fucking information out there, let’s stop and learn from the Japanese wisdom of saying more with less. We don’t have to be all-encompassing; we can write haiku. My poetic interpretations of today’s presentations on “Sustainability, Growth and Ethics“:

 

Veken Gueyikian, Hyperallergic

Online art ads suck;

Transparent and relevant

Are the way to go.

 

Eugenia Bell, Design Observer

Is Lulu Lemon

Antifeminist or not?

Good design question.

 

Carolina Miranda, Los Angeles Times

If you work for free,

At least have a good reason.

1 dollar per word!

 

James McAnally, Temporary Art Review

Anti-profit seems

Like a cool idea at first

But it falls apart.

 

The Superscript Blog Mentorship program, a partnership with Hyperallergic, is presented as part of

Moyra Davey’s Notes on Blue: A Post-Screening Meditation

My first encounter with Moyra Davey’s video work was as an intern in the New Media Department at the Centre Pompidou in 2012. I was instructed to review a collection of video works to make sure they were playing correctly (i.e., intern work). I watched the videos at my computer with headphones on, in imposed […]

Notes on Blue - super8 intro

Moyra Davey, Notes on Blue, 2015, video

My first encounter with Moyra Davey’s video work was as an intern in the New Media Department at the Centre Pompidou in 2012. I was instructed to review a collection of video works to make sure they were playing correctly (i.e., intern work). I watched the videos at my computer with headphones on, in imposed isolation at the office. I started with Les Godesses (2011, video, 61 minutes), which captivated me from its first shot — a black-and-white photograph of a young woman with thick brows and even thicker eyelids lying in grass. The voiceover begins by narrating the life of a young Mary Wollstonecraft — her loves, her disillusionment, her failed suicide attempts. The style intrigued me and brought me back to Chris Marker, a pioneer in the essay-film genre. Marker was, like Davey, a similarly unwieldy combination of photographer-writer-artist-filmmaker, whose films I had been completely immersed in at the time.

Today I found myself watching Davey’s newly commissioned film for the Walker Art Center, one of a series of moving-image works created by six artists that will be viewable ephemerally online, for one month, beginning June 1. Davey’s piece, Notes on Blue (2015, video, 28 minutes) touches on, among many topics and lives, that of Derek Jarman, who released his film Blue (1993) only months before his death from AIDS-related complications. As with Les Godesses, the viewer sees Davey in the process of recording the voiceover, walking to and fro in her New York apartment with headphones in her ears. Her soothing, monotonous voice drew me into a meditative state, after which I hung on to the following thoughts.

Blindness and color. Both Jarman and Davey have experienced blindness, yet they still have vision. For Jarman, vision is International (Yves) Klein Blue; for Davey, it is the opposite, yellow. Art and medicine are essential to life in equal degrees — the imagination urges you to see what you cannot, when you cannot, while knowledge through evidence tells you that sight is light. Without it you are lost. During the screening I closed my eyes, cocooned in sound and bathed in the images flashing before my mind.

Moyra Davey, Notes on Blue, 2015. Video.

Moyra Davey, Notes on Blue, 2015, video

The work is intimate. Davey ambulates through her apartment, feeds her dog, rides the subway. My eyes scanned throughout, trying to connect the dots in her private space — the tousled sheets, the dusty lamp, the peeling walls, the cluttered desk — as the intertwined voices of Jorge Luis Borges, Julia Kristeva, Sylvia Plath, and others that Davey cites to make sense of her inner life receded into the background. The film is full of dream-like episodes shot on Super-8 film, depicting young, lithe women framed by subways and their platforms. Are they apparitions, muses, hallucinations?

“I live in a strange suspension, straddling the analog technologies I used to know but am quickly forgetting, and the digital ones I struggle to learn, imperfectly at best,” Davey repeats after her audio prompt. Jarman’s Blue is punctuated by the Zen bell, sounding time passed in meditation; Davey includes the same tone towards the end of her film. But there is more than merely the sound of Zen here: there is also its insistence on the primacy of change, our powerlessness in its hands, and the acceptance of life as it is shaped before you, in you, upon you. Illness, the struggle of artistic expression, technology — these things grow into you as a tree envelops obstructions into its bark.

Notes on Blue premiered at Superscript: Arts Journalism and Criticism in a Digital Age at the Walker Art Center. It will premiere online on June 1 as part of Walker Moving Image Commissions.

The Superscript Blog Mentorship program, a partnership with Hyperallergic, is presented as part of

Superscript in Context

Superscript is touted as being the first conference of its kind, but that doesn’t mean the role of arts journalism in the digital age hasn’t already been explored. Recent lectures and panels, as well as calls for proposals from the College Art Association and the European Society for Aesthetics, demonstrate an anxiety—or excitement—about the contemporary art critic. While there doesn’t […]

Grumpy Cat Critic

Superscript is touted as being the first conference of its kind, but that doesn’t mean the role of arts journalism in the digital age hasn’t already been explored.

Recent lectures and panels, as well as calls for proposals from the College Art Association and the European Society for Aesthetics, demonstrate an anxiety—or excitement—about the contemporary art critic. While there doesn’t appear to have been a conference before this one devoted to arts writing in the digital age, there have been several discussions about the future of arts journalism and criticism. The following instances might provide some context for situating Superscript.

A year ago, British film critic Mark Kermode chaired a panel at the Institute of Contemporary Arts, London, entitled “Who Needs the Professionals Now That Everyone’s a Critic?” It took on the future of criticism, with a myriad of arts writers addressing music, film, visual art, theater, and literature. They focused primarily on the reviewer and the audience, though, and according to at least one critic, barely problematized the word “professional.” And that writer’s recap is pretty much the only record of the panel accessible online.

Just a week ago, the Sydney Writer’s Festival featured a panel entitled Everyone’s a Critic, But Should They Be?,” again bringing together a range of arts writers to consider the question. “In a noisy digital age, making your opinions heard is a rare skill,” says the event page. “How do our best critics keep the cultural conversation classy, while competing against the world’s most clickable cat videos?” (I might add that the Walker developed the first ever Cat Video Festival.) But like the previous example, this panel lacked much in the way of a digital life, which raises some key questions: Who are these panels really for? And how can we harness digital media to extend the reach of these gatherings, so that we don’t silo conversations but open up space for collaborative inquiry?

Superscript is searching for an answer. Although the focus of Superscript isn’t entirely novel, its efforts to engage audiences beyond the physical and temporal space of the conference are not only forward-thinking, but self-referential. Unlike previous panels, where digital hasn’t been prioritized, Superscript is attempting to inhabit the digital, playing with some of the issues it seeks to explore, namely: sustainability, connectivity, and community. Hopefully Superscript’s digital life will better enable others to pick up where it leaves off.

The Superscript Blog Mentorship program, a partnership with Hyperallergic, is presented as part of

Meet the Bloggers: Merray Gerges, Halifax

In my application for the Superscript/Hyperallergic blog mentorship, I said something faintly melodramatic about having lived in an “Atlantic vacuum” and my yearning to attend Superscript to “[bridge] the gulf between Canadian and American art criticism.” Though the current climate of austerity in Canada means that Canadian critics must weather an economic landscape that is […]

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In my application for the Superscript/Hyperallergic blog mentorship, I said something faintly melodramatic about having lived in an “Atlantic vacuum” and my yearning to attend Superscript to “[bridge] the gulf between Canadian and American art criticism.” Though the current climate of austerity in Canada means that Canadian critics must weather an economic landscape that is just as barren and precarious as it is for critics in the US, the mechanisms of our markets, museums, and money-allocation vary vastly. So since a comparison between the two would be counterproductive, I’d like to take this opportunity to flesh out my opening statement by outlining how my solitary consumption and production of criticism postured me as a wannabe-critic and what I hope to gain from attending Superscript through the mentorship.

I studied art history at the Nova Scotia College of Art & Design on the idyllic east coast of Canada (with Montreal being the closest metropolis, at 1,242 km away). Its pedagogy still bears traces of the legacy of Garry Neill Kennedy, who transformed it into a Conceptual Art haven from 1967 onwards. At peak impressionability in my second year, at the New Museum’s Ungovernables Triennial, I saw the Iman Issa work that would decidedly spur the dilemma that fueled most of my undergrad research. There, I found myself caught between three disparate inclinations: my seduction by slick, sleek Minimalist aesthetics; developing anti-oppression politics; and fostering a distaste for textbook-identity-politics work laden with didacticism and tired, derivative tropes. I therefore delved into a research-oriented (i.e. writing-devoid) art history degree, isolating myself in a Brutalist university library to sweat over papers that no one would critique but my art history profs, often fueled by quad-espressos and whatever methylphenidate I could get my hands on.

By third year, I came to be increasingly frustrated with the absence of forums to share, discuss, and improve our writing. After much deliberation, some like-minded colleagues and I established a quarterly newsprint publication that we named CRITpaper. We envisioned it as an antidote to the lack of publishing opportunities for emerging Halifax-based writers and toiled to make it a site for apt critical reviews, essays, and interviews. We wanted to create a tangible document of what writers and artists were preoccupied with, and we wanted to make it structurally sustainable so that it could continue to fulfill a perceivable void in Canadian art criticism. Through soliciting and editing content for CRITpaper over the past three years with a small team of volunteers and support from the Khyber, a beloved local artist-run centre, it came to be a site for me to skirt around the performance anxiety I’d developed towards writing while remaining an articulation of my continual engagement with criticism as a discipline, even if through a medium that is renegotiating its parameters on an unremitting basis. (Past issues are here, but if you’re at #Superscript15 and you’d like to get your hands on a copy, please feel free to approach me for one.)

My art history education was totally at odds with what I learned in J-school, where I suddenly had to haul ass to keep up with a relentless deadline turnaround, and was called out for my cavalier employment of the International Art English that I’d gotten so accustomed to speaking and writing. A year after graduating, I still find myself in a liminal space;) where I’m struggling to reconcile the clashing principles I was shelled with in these two disciplines that ought to be a tad less contradictory.

I originally intended to attend Superscript to bask in discussions of what it means to be a digital-immigrant art critic in a digital age and to fan-girl over critics whose work I’ve admired from a distance for years. However, as a participant in the mentorship program, I’m thrilled for the opportunity to be more than a flâneur-scroller, to dive into the deep end of the pool to hybridize art history + journalism, to learn from you how you do it the way you do IRL. 

The Superscript Blog Mentorship program, a partnership with Hyperallergic, is presented as part of

Meet the Bloggers: Ryohei Ozaki, New York

I’ve always been “in-between.” I spent my first three and a half years in Tokyo, hardly learning the language before relocating with my family to a peaceful suburb just outside New York. We moved again, a year or so later, to a neighboring town where I made my first American friends, whom I left each […]

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Consider the tomato…

I’ve always been “in-between.” I spent my first three and a half years in Tokyo, hardly learning the language before relocating with my family to a peaceful suburb just outside New York. We moved again, a year or so later, to a neighboring town where I made my first American friends, whom I left each summer for two months to visit relatives in a sweltering, humid Japan. I aspired, as a teenager, first to become an architect (without really knowing why, though I suspect I loved the photography and the books more than the buildings) then a neurosurgeon; my parents simply (confusedly) accepted these fluctuations, neither pushing nor pulling.

After a year of pre-med coursework in college, I spent a slightly absurd summer in between a neuro-oncology lab in New York and a 17th-century château in Brittany, France. I decided, pretty recklessly in hindsight, to leave medicine behind to study French, philosophy, and art history—anyone who was surprised, however, had forgotten about my occasional Camusian Facebook essays. Then, for a year I was in Paris, where I quietly turned 21 with no more ceremony than on any other Parisian night: that is, with plenty of wine. I returned stateside for my final year of college, deep in a world of literature, film, and art—but a conversation with a friend made me think. “There has to be a way for you to reconcile past you and present you, the rational scientist and the creative artist,” she’d said.

What had felt like liberation and self-realization now looked more like compartmentalization: the replacement of one option with another, denying affinities across disciplines, borders, histories, media. In a way, I’d succumbed to the false premise of all the varieties of the same question I had gotten used to by now: “So, are you more American or Japanese?” “Do you think in English or Japanese?” “Are you a science person or a humanities person?” I’d chosen an option instead of asking why one person couldn’t possibly nurture several seemingly conflicting interests or identities. Multiplicity and ambiguity don’t sit well with us—even tomatoes are subject to our obsession with singularity: are they a vegetable, or not? But in the midst of that we lose the point. Does it taste good? But also, if it doesn’t taste good, why not, and how do we make it better?

When thinking about journalism and criticism in the digital age, I constantly feel that we are at the same crossroads. The way we live today, with our phones, social media profiles, blogs, emails, videos, etc. is so new. I didn’t even have a cell phone until I was 14, which itself sounds ridiculous (in 2015) until you see babies in strollers fiddling with their iPads. As a rule of thumb, the new is viewed by many with suspicion, until, of course, it can be marketed and made profitable; artists, on the other hand, are usually novelty pioneers. Many, if not all, newspapers, magazines, journals, and other print media have adopted the language of the Internet to maintain and develop readership. But having a website, mobile app, and Twitter account is merely swapping one outlet for another, not thinking creatively or synthetically.

At the Walker this week, I hope to hear valuable and actionable insights into how we can choose to take a stand in the “in-between,” neither traditional nor avant-garde, neither too narrow nor too wide, neither inaccessible nor superficial, to reconceptualize the way we live with art instead of trying to categorize into preconceived structures of understanding. Because if we’re stuck arguing about writing about art while the art and artists stand by, then, frankly, we’re missing the point. I want to come out of this weekend revived and inspired by the possibilities that are open to us to produce, distribute, and appreciate cultural wealth because of our digital worlds.

The Superscript Blog Mentorship program, a partnership with Hyperallergic, is presented as part of

Meet the Bloggers: Sam Wisneski, St. Paul

Greetings, Superscript-ers! I’m incredibly excited to be a part of the Superscript Blog Mentorship program as one of three “enterprising” bloggers, especially as a Twin Cities resident. I’m a graduate student in the MA Art History program at the University of St. Thomas in St. Paul, Minn., with a BA in Communication & Journalism and […]

what_nextGreetings, Superscript-ers! I’m incredibly excited to be a part of the Superscript Blog Mentorship program as one of three “enterprising” bloggers, especially as a Twin Cities resident. I’m a graduate student in the MA Art History program at the University of St. Thomas in St. Paul, Minn., with a BA in Communication & Journalism and Art History (also from the University of St. Thomas).

As an undergrad, arts writing opportunities felt scarce to me. The state of the arts at my college seemed bleak when I first started. By that I mean the theater program and theater proper were both dissolved and demolished shortly before I began, and there was no studio arts program to be found. To be clear, I didn’t intend on majoring in anything arts-related, but writing about art appealed to me, yet it didn’t seem like we had much art on campus. Moreover, the student news publication rarely published reviews about art, let alone criticism. Despite this, I found a home in the art history department, where I could write about visual culture to my heart’s content. Still, I yearned for a broader audience.

With limited opportunities to write about art on campus, I turned to Google in search of internship, freelance, and networking opportunities. Google “Twin Cities arts criticism” and the first results are tabloid-style entertainment publications and mainstream local news — both of which are important for getting the word out, but generally lack the critical edge I was looking for. Among the other Google results, I learned about Artpaper (1981–1993), the Visual Arts Critics Union of Minnesota (VACUM) and Art Review & Preview (ARP!) — the latter two of which dissolved around the time I entered college. I quickly learned that what appeared to be a recent problem with Twin Cities arts criticism wasn’t a recent problem at all, it was just the latest decline in a historically volatile trend.

In a sense, I wrote off critical arts writing in the Twin Cities, albeit prematurely, in part because I wasn’t familiar with some of the great work already happening in places like the Twin Cities Daily Planet or Mnartists.org. What got me interested in arts journalism again, though, was social media — Tumblr specifically, and projects like Kimberly Drew’s Black Contemporary Art in particular. Reinvigorated, I’ve begun to explore community-based arts projects and post-disciplinary approaches to arts criticism. Spaces like Tumblr are only part of the answer to what seems like a Minnesotan ambivalence to arts criticism, so at Superscript I’ll be thinking broadly about sustainable, inclusive platforms for fostering independent arts criticism and amplifying the voices of other local writers and artists, in spaces that don’t already exist. I’m eager to connect with those already actively writing and thinking about art, and I can’t wait to witness and be a part of what’s next for arts journalism in the Twin Cities.

The Superscript Blog Mentorship program, a partnership with Hyperallergic, is presented as part of

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