bell hooks’ Talking Art as the Spirit Moves Us (1995) challenged my thinking about how art by marginalised groups is framed. hooks addresses the 1993 Whitney Biennial, where works by Black artists were reduced to a narrative of “revolt.” She argues that this framing limits the aesthetic complexity and cultural significance of their art.
Her critique made me reflect on how often art by Black and other marginalised groups is viewed through a lens that diminishes its full meaning and context, especially in education.
I agree with hooks, but I also think there’s a paradox here. While mainstream interpretations of Black art are often narrow, it’s hard not to view these works—created in a world shaped by white-supremacist and patriarchal structures—as inherently political. Is it not almost impossible for Black artists, especially those working within predominantly white spaces, not to make a statement simply by existing and creating? In this sense, their work is revolutionary by default, not always by design.
I draw parallels to my experience as a queer individual. Similar to Black artists, queer creators often navigate a world that reduces their identities to an oppressive narrative. For example, much queer cinema is tragic, arguably because that’s how non-queer audiences expect it to be. There’s a trauma-porn gaze imposed on queer art, which could diminish its richness and diversity. Yet we also lean into it. Recently, though, the popularity of the gay rom-com Heated Vivalry—light, sexy, and largely free from trauma—demonstrates the demand for queer narratives that aren’t defined by pain.
Perhaps this parallel between Black art and queer art is more about the spaces these creatives occupy. Both communities often create art within structures that are hostile or dismissive of their experiences. At UAL, this dynamic becomes evident.
During our group discussions, I shared my frustration with the prevailing creative educational focus on individualism and nostalgia. So much of creative work today centers on the “self.” While this has value and a place, it often leads to restrictive narratives. As one colleague/peer pointed out in the chatroom, it’s as if creative academia is obsessed with the idea of the artist as a solitary genius, leaving little room for collaboration, collective thinking, or engaging with the world around them.
We also discussed how academic structures, rooted in efficiency, safety, and institutional frameworks, often stifle creative experimentation. The constraints of time, finances, established norms, learning outcomes, and assessment frameworks all limit creativity.
I believe art and design education should do more than just offering technical skills, but also actively encouraging students to think critically about the systems that shape both the creation and the reception of their work. In this sense, art education could serve as a site of transgression, a space where students not only learn to make art but also challenge the very structures that constrain their making, leading to broader narratives, ideas, and thinking.
But what is our role in education? If we want to empower students, we must challenge the structures that govern us—white-supremacist and patriarchal thinking, both in the classroom and beyond. Have not the policies and systems around us been created with this mindset? Only by addressing this can we create a more inclusive, expansive view of art and design, one that allows all voices to be heard, not just those deemed “revolutionary,” but those that are simply honest.
Reference
hooks, b. (1995) ‘Talking Art as the Spirit Moves Us’, in Art on My Mind: Visual Politics. New York: The New Press, pp. 115–120.
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