Art, Censorship, and the Right to Offend...

Where do we draw the line between artistic freedom and curatorial responsibility?

​Should galleries censor art? And if so, who decides what is acceptable and what isn't?

It's a question I've been considering following a recent controversy involving fellow artist Christine Roychowdhury and her painting Protest. Christine's work is a diptych depicting contemporary political protest. It was exhibited in its entirety at the Society of  Women Artists' (SWA) annual exhibition at Mall Galleries in June this year.

Subsequently shortlisted for the Women in Art Prize, the painting was to be displayed at a gallery in Chelmsford. However, when the exhibition opened, only one panel was hung.

The missing panel depicted a protester holding a placard that could be interpreted as supporting Palestine Action, an organisation proscribed under UK terrorism legislation. According to Christine, the gallery were concerned that the image might cause offence!

The decision prompted protests from fellow artists. One suggested leaving the empty space where the missing panel should've been, turning the art of censorship into part of the exhibition itself, which is effectively what happened - for a few days, at least.

I've always believed artists are chroniclers of their time. Think of Picasso's Guernica, Goya's The Third of May 1808, or Kathe Kollwitz's depictions of poverty, grief, and war. These artists weren't simply creating attractive images, they were responding to the world around them. 

This brings me to what I find so troubling about the decision to withhold part of Christine's painting. Surely depicting something is not the same as endorsing it... or is it? A photographer documenting a demonstration might capture protesters carrying controversial placards. A journalist might report on the same event. Why would a painter depicting that scene be treated differently?

Of course, artists aren't necessarily impartial observers, and neither are photographers who choose what to include in the frame and what to leave out. We all interpret what we see. However, if certain events become too politically sensitive to depict, aren't we in danger of sanitising our history?

Remember the enormous inflatable depicting President Donald Trump as a baby wearing a nappy, flown above protestors during his visit to London in 2018? Some saw it as legitimate political satire; others considered it deeply disrespectful, yet the inflatable was subsequently acquired by the Museum of London as an object of historical significance. Something that offended people at the time is now preserved as part of the history of political protest. I find that rather telling. 

Would we defend an artist's right to ridicule a political figure we admired? Perhaps that's where our commitment to artistic freedom is really tested.

Of course, galleries have responsibilities. They must consider public safety, their visitors, and the law, but exhibiting a work doesn't necessarily mean endorsing its message. Surely there is a distinction between choosing not to exhibit a work and agreeing to display it, then withholding part of it. A diptych is conceived as a single artwork. Removing one panel can fundamentally alter its meaning. 

But there must be limits. What about art that actively incites violence, promotes hatred, recruits for violent extremists, or involves exploitation and abuse? Artistic freedom cannot be a blanket justification for genuine harm. 

Context is everything. A painting depicting a racist demonstration might be exposing prejudice rather than promoting it. Disturbing images of genocide might condemn atrocities rather than glorify them. What happens when the artist's intentions and the audience's interpretation differ? Who decides?
There is a difference between something being offensive, genuinely harmful, and unlawful. We shouldn't confuse the three. The proscription of Palestine Action raises legitimate legal considerations, but depicting a controversial placard is not automatically equivalent to endorsing its message.
  
I ask these questions as someone who has been on the other side of a curatorial decision. When Protest was exhibited at the SWA annual exhibition at Mall Galleries in June, it hung in the East Gallery, which I personally curated. In fact, we made Christine's painting the focal point of that particular wall, arranging the surrounding exhibits around it, not necessarily because of its political message but because it was big, bold, and full of action. It had a presence that naturally commanded attention. We were, of course, conscious that its subject matter might provoke a reaction. There was even some concern that someone might attempt to deface it. Nevertheless, we displayed both panels.

The SWA has itself experienced censorship by a gallery when in 2014 we were asked by Mall Galleries to take down Portrait of Ms Ruby May, standing by the artist Leena McCall. This was despite the society itself selecting the piece for exhibition. Different subject matter but the same fundamental question: who ultimately decides what the public is allowed to see?

There is a wonderful irony in all of this. Christine painted a work about protest, only for the decision to withhold one of its panels to provoke a protest of its own. The protest became the protest! Eventually the missing panel was hung, and the controversy generated considerable publicity for the painting, something the gallery itself acknowledged.

What fascinates me is how the painting's subject matter spilled beyond the canvas into real life. The debate surrounding its display became part of its story. There is something rather poetic about that.
 
So where do we draw the line? I don't believe every artwork must be exhibited, nor that artists should be immune from criticism. Curators have legitimate responsibilities, and there are legal and ethical boundaries. Art isn't always about producing something beautiful to hang above the sofa. Sometimes it confronts us with uncomfortable truths, challenges our beliefs, or simply makes us angry. That's fine.

What does concern me is the possibility that, in trying to avoid offence, we begin deciding which aspects of contemporary life artists are permitted to record. 

Perhaps the question galleries should ask isn't simply whether the work might offend, but whether there is a compelling reason it cannot be shown, and whether explanation or discussion might be preferable to removing it. In Christine's case, I feel it would have been better to let the public see the painting in its entirely and make up their own minds. Thankfully this is exactly what the gallery did in the end. 

If we defend artistic freedom only when we agree with the artist, are we defending artistic freedom at all?

I'd be interested to know your thoughts. As always, please share your views in the comments box below.