When Black art enters historically white institutions, what changes and what remains? In this reflection, our Programme Assistant, Joséphine Gram explores her experiences of Brussels’ cultural scene.
A summary in simplified English is provided at the end of the article.
”In the past six months of living in Brussels, I have in many ways been immersed in Black diasporic cultural production, everything from exhibitions and performances to concerts and cultural events. So much so that I almost forgot that this is a rarity in European art institutions. Coming from Helsinki, where Black artistic expression isn’t given much (if any) space, so limited that I could count them on one hand – this abundance initially felt like being spoiled, as if I’d stumbled into a secret that shouldn’t even be mine. I’ve found myself in awe of what feels like a luxury but should, in reality, be self-evident: seeing my experiences, reflections, and realities mirrored in spaces that rarely made room for them before. But that feeling of being ”spoiled” by representation, is itself a symptom of structural exclusion. When what should be normal – the centering of Black art, on Black terms – feels like an anomaly.
I find myself often wrestling with questions about who these exhibitions are truly for. Are we here because we’ve finally been invited to the table, or is our presence just a temporary fix for the institutions’ historical guilt, a neat solution to DEI quotas and diversity checklists? Is this visibility a genuine gesture toward inclusion, or just a fleeting trend?
Are we here because we’ve finally been invited to the table, or is our presence just a temporary fix for the institutions’ historical guilt, a neat solution to DEI quotas and diversity checklists?
”Not everything we create is in reaction to whiteness”
Institutionally there’s a tendency to view Black art through the lens of resistance, and while that’s valid, it’s also limiting. Not everything we create is in reaction to whiteness. Sometimes we’re just making art about joy, about desire, about being, or about anything else that we feel like. It’s important to give space to Blackness not as a struggle, but as existence.
And therein lies the tension. The work may be Black, but the walls are still white. The curation may be radical, but the funding remains institutional. Does visibility equate to belonging, or is it just a function of temporary institutional interest? Is it disruptive, or just another act of assimilation? And in the case of Black art in white spaces: whose gaze is being served? When an exhibition is programmed by a white European institution, does it challenge white hegemony, or does it ultimately reinforce it by making Blackness legible and consumable within the frameworks of white European cultural prestige?
The work may be Black, but the walls are still white. The curation may be radical, but the funding remains institutional. Does visibility equate to belonging, or is it just a function of temporary institutional interest?
The contradictions of Black art in white spaces
Take Bozar, for example, the centre for fine arts here in Brussels, a building designed by Victor Horta, whose career was intertwined with Leopold II’s violent exploitation of the Congo. At the moment, the exhibition When We See Us: A Century of Black Figuration in Painting is on display. An exhibition that evoked a lot of conflicting emotions in me. To exhibit Black art in such a space is in many ways to confront history in real time. The architecture itself, massive, grand, colonial, looms over the work, a reminder of the structures that Black bodies are forced to navigate. Black art in white institutions exists in this liminal zone, always negotiating between recognition and co-optation.
And yet, despite this tension, I find myself moved in these spaces. There is power in seeing Blackness centered, not as an anthropological curiosity, not as a historical footnote, but as the very subject, the defining force of an exhibition. There is power in seeing Black people at rest, in seeing depictions of sensuality that are neither fetishised nor pathologized. There is power in the sheer act of presence, bodies standing in front of paintings, people taking up space in institutions that were not designed for us.
And yet, despite this tension, I find myself moved in these spaces. There is power in seeing Blackness centered, not as an anthropological curiosity, not as a historical footnote, but as the very subject, the defining force of an exhibition.
Changing structures as the final frontier
“Decolonizing” these institutions is far more than just curating Blackness into their existing structures. Real change requires these spaces to rethink power dynamics fundamentally, to reshape funding, decision making, and their relationship to communities they claim to uplift. This structural transformation is what I find myself longing for. And let’s be honest, tearing the physical structures of oppression to the ground.
So what do we do with this contradiction? Maybe the answer is to remain mindful. To recognize that while representation is powerful, it isn’t the final frontier. To celebrate Black art while also asking: who owns this space? Who sets the terms? Who profits? And perhaps most importantly, to ask: where else might this art live, beyond the structures of white validation? Because while visibility can be a tool, true liberation lies in self-determination, not just in what we create, but in how, where, and with whom we choose to share it.
So what do we do with this contradiction? Maybe the answer is to remain mindful. To recognize that while representation is powerful, it isn’t the final frontier.
And maybe that’s my biggest realisation after six months: as much as I appreciate seeing Black art in these historically white spaces, I want to witness, and participate in, the creation of spaces shaped entirely by and for us. Not spaces haunted by Whiteness. Spaces where our presence isn’t an exception but the norm. Where our art doesn’t have to carry the exhausting weight of representation, but simply gets to be.”
Text: Joséphine Gram
Cover image by Julie Pollet from the Bozar When We See Us: A Century of Black Figuration in Painting press page.
Summary in simplified English:
- In Brussels, the writer, Joséphine Gram, has experienced a lot of Black art and culture, which felt rare coming from Helsinki.
- This has felt like a luxury, but it shows how uncommon Black representation still is in European art spaces.
- She wonders if these shows are genuine or just institutions trying to look diverse.
- Black art is often boxed into themes of struggle, but it should also celebrate whatever the artist feels like.
- There’s tension: the art is Black, but the power and space are still very white.
- True change isn’t just visibility. It means shifting power, funding, and control to Black communities.
- The writer dreams of spaces made by and for Black people, where art doesn’t need to “represent,” it just is.