Being Understood

Contemporary art—meaning art that reflects the current cultural, social, and political climate around the world and encompasses a wide range of mediums—has its own language, its own jargon, just like other fields of human activity. As in many other disciplines, expert language in art helps to save time for everyone involved; things do not have to be explained, and anyone who wants to become an expert must first be initiated into this language. However, expert or academic language has its flip side. Sometimes it is its own legitimization—an end instead of a means. The problem with contemporary art is that it very often speaks in an expert language even when it is supposed to be speaking to non-experts, which has an elitist or alienating effect. In public institutions such as museums, we have entire departments that deal with “translating” the expert language of contemporary art (e.g., mediation, audience development, and education departments). It is a symptom of this situation that these departments are often subordinate in the hierarchy of the institution to an artistic and curatorial program in which they, more often than not, cannot interfere in any way.

For the 2024 edition of the Biennale Matter of Art, the curators and us in tranzit.cz agreed on a common rule: to communicate the biennale in general language, not expert jargon. The biennale took place in the National Gallery Prague, a large state institution in the center of the city which is frequented in the summer not only by locals but by culture-loving tourists. Tourists cannot be expected to have an expert knowledge of art, but they also often lack a good knowledge of Czech or English. Therefore, the English texts written by the curators for the exhibited works were edited with the intention of simplifying the language. A person who has experience in English language teaching and translation and is also an expert in art had the main say on them. The texts had to be understandable to those with an intermediate level of English and not contain technical words that one would need to look up. The texts, thus edited, were met with resistance from the curators and artists. One of the curators and some of the artists felt that the texts leveled and flattened the ideas expressed by the artworks, despite the fact that we felt we had not changed the meaning of the texts. We and the curators then spent the next month negotiating over the texts. In the end, the texts for the artworks were a compromise, neither fully accessible nor fully expert. Ultimately, they reflected the tensions we had been grappling with all along.

In the discussions, it was clear that for some people “being understood” means thinking more empathetically about the reader or recipient of the text. To others, it was more important that the texts express their ideas precisely, using exactly the right terms. One case in point is an artist called Sráč Sam (Fucker Sam), with whom we as tranzit collaborate. Sam has an a priori trust in her art and in people, and she does not want to make assumptions about what people may or may not understand or make conscious attempts to be understood. However, in her work I Promise she invites her audience to sign a document declaring their trust in art in exchange for a piece of her work. The desire and intention to be understood may manifest itself in various ways, even in the very ostentatious refusal to make concessions so that others can understand you.

Language is embedded in the social fabric; the language we use reflects our sociocultural and class status. The language of the art field reflects the sociocultural status of the people who are in it. When we were discussing one of our books with the Laundry Collective, an artist collective whose members have experienced homelessness and life on the streets, and we mentioned the term “sex worker,” they had a fit of laughter. They asked us: Do you mean “hookers”? Once we invited a Romani activist, a working-class man from a small town, to a fundraising event in the capital to support the grassroots initiative in which he was involved. Mainly young leftists had arrived at the event, and they were shocked by the language he used. To some of them, it seemed that the Romani activist was using the language of racist politicians.

In activist, academic, or art circles people are often very careful about the language they use with regard to the feelings and the right to self-determination of the people that they are addressing. They are wary about doing harm with words. The position from which I speak is certainly a factor in the use of language. It is certainly different if I use a potentially offensive word to describe my reality or to describe a reality I do not experience. However, communication is a dynamic process. (Mis)understanding is, first of all, subject to the situation and conditions in which we find ourselves. In certain situations, we tend not to want to understand others—for example, on social media or, in general, under conditions we find hostile to ourselves. In other situations—for example, in a face-to-face meeting or in a context that is facilitated toward understanding—it is more possible. Can we learn from this in the events or programs we organize?

In the art world, there should be a place for “hookers” and “sex workers,” a place where people can communicate across class or other divides. In other words, in art there should be room for similar discussions and tensions. The language should be diverse. The worst thing is when there is only one language—the expert one which divides into the inside and the outside. It is OK not to understand and not to be understood, to make mistakes or be confused, but this misunderstanding should be a means, a portal, not a dead end. It is OK not to understand each other, but it should be our departure point on a search for new words and a new language, one that bridges over to others across differences.