BmoreArt

Berger grew up in a predominantly Black and Hispanic housing project on Manhattan’s Lower East Side. It was this upbringing that made racism real for him—in “Are Art Museums Racist?” he wrote, “I’m used to the experience of witnessing social and cultural indifference to people of color as a white person on the inside.” He wrote from this experience to critique the art world for remaining stubbornly resistant to being inclusive and sharing venues with people of color. Specifically, he examines the “complex institutional conditions that result in the exclusion or misrepresentation of major cultural voices in the United States.” The fundamental structures that keep people of color out of the art world, Berger concludes, have not budged, and in order to address this imbalance white cultural critics like himself have to examine their own whiteness and privilege in relation to people of color. He makes it very plain in the final lines: “When it comes to the question of why we ignore the art of African Americans and other people of color, simply learning how to listen to others is not enough. We must first learn to listen to ourselves, no matter how painful that process might be.” 

I was on autopilot before Berger’s death, but this news woke me to a new reality. How many more of our heroes, colleagues, lovers, friends, family will perish? How much will we mourn? And when will we be forced to continue? I appreciate the ability to mark and remark on his passing. I feel we are getting to a point where we will rapidly see more people we know falling ill or worse. Suddenly there is so much shifting, so much quiet, so much death, so much change, and so much loss. The social distancing and COVID-19 closures have forced me to pause and meditate on my own regrets, pondering phrases I should have said, ventures that I should have pursued. I wish I could have gotten the chance to shake Maurice Berger’s hand and tell him in person how much I respected him and his work, and I know his research included people like me and countless other scholars, critics, and curators. 

In his award-winning “Race Stories” column for the New York Times’ photography section Lens, Berger moved past surface-level evaluation of artistic work and deeply explored how race informed the artistic practices of Black artists. Writing about Gordon Parks’ 1971 blaxploitation film Shaft, Berger discusses the relationship between the film and Parks’ early photographs in which the artist “attempted to challenge how mainstream media portrayed African-Americans and crime.”

Berger championed Black artists such as Carrie Mae Weems, Dawoud Bey, and Latoya Ruby Frazier, through critical elevation of their work. His approach and veneration was innovative, centering the voices and the stories of the Black artists that he profiled. When he spoke of his own race or position, he only did so to offer context. He could have easily written beautiful and empty things, instead his life’s work was naming racism and calling out the art world’s whiteness. He used his white privilege to amplify the voices and stories of Black artists, bringing their work to new audiences. 

Berger’s advocacy as a white curator and critic was intentional and genuine. He wanted to tell artists’ stories because he believed it was the right and just thing to do, and because he marveled at their talent. In a short documentary for the International Center of Photography’s 2018 Infinity Award, Berger said, “The ordinariness of racism hasn’t changed really at all for a really long time.” His unending drive to confront and examine race reflected this sentiment. I think that Berger’s refusal to ignore race, and his ability to discuss the implicit whiteness and white privilege in the art world in his time, was brave. 

Years ago, at the start of my development as a Black, queer curator, reading Berger’s words helped focus the type of work I wanted to do. Now I want my words and my exhibitions to echo his bravery and his legacy. Berger was never afraid to name and make racism obvious, in spaces that were predominantly white and that often wanted to pretend that racism did not exist. The foundation of my own curatorial practice is my belief that Black people, Black creators, are cultural architects, a belief that Maurice Berger echoed through his tirelessly consistent work.