Working Group 2, February 13, 2025, Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam.
Date: Friday, February 13, 2025, 2:00–5:00 p.m.
Location: National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, Seoul.
Participants: Tiffany Yeon Chae, Kim Namin, Gu Juhyeon (MMCA); Charl Landvreugd (Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam); Sooyoung Leam (editorial fellow); Eugene Hannah.
Transcript edited by: Gu Juhyeon and Danielle N. Carter.
Tiffany Yeon Chae (TC): Today is our second gathering of the working group. We have invited Charl Landvreugd, the head of research at the Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam. He is the one who first proposed this joint publication project between the MMCA and the Stedelijk Museum in May 2024. He will share about the Stedelijk Museum’s research projects, and the joint publication project with the MMCA. Joining us today are both institutions’ editorial fellow Sooyoung Leam, working group members who contributed to plan the special feature, and curators from the MMCA.
Charl Landvreugd (CL): You might wonder about my title—head of research and curatorial practice. The “curatorial practice” part is about policy. It’s really important to understand how society is evolving and how we, as a museum, might function within it. Since I started this role at the Stedelijk Museum, one of the first things I emphasized was that we need to recognize the museum as a subject, not just as an object. Many people—especially in the West—see museums as trustworthy, even more so than banks. But when we treat the museum as a subject, we acknowledge that it isn’t neutral; it has a perspective. That’s why it’s crucial for us to ask: What is the museum’s opinion? What position does it take? What role does it play in society that allows it to formulate such an opinion? Our work is about challenging the idea of the museum as neutral or inherently authoritative. Museums hold authority in the public imagination. So if people perceive what we say as truth, we must be extremely careful about the truths we present. The question becomes: Can we, as a staff, provide truth? Are we enough—diverse and informed enough—to offer something that even resembles truth?
Cover of the Szine #2 Cultural Diplomacy, 2022.
CL: Building on this understanding of the museum as a subject, we [the research department at the Stedelijk] began exploring its political dimensions—particularly its role in cultural diplomacy. It can especially be found in the second issue of the irregular academic zine Szine, titled Szine #2: Cultural Diplomacy. Understanding that the museum, at the end of the day, is an extension of state ideology is crucial. Two key questions arise: Firstly, how does state policy influence the museum’s acquisitions? Secondly, how can the museum exert soft political power where formal political power cannot?
View of the Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam. Courtesy of Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam.
As cultural workers, we must remain aware that we are not neutral. In one way or another, we are part of state power—whether we like it or not, regardless of our personal stance. So the question becomes: What will you do with that power? If you disagree with the state, what can you do? Is it possible to subvert state power from within the institution? That’s the core of what this Szine explores.
The next Szine we’re planning focuses on money. Where does it come from? As a cultural institution, we rely heavily on both public and private funding. This raises a fundamental question: Can we be autonomous? Or must we accept that we are not—and may never be—autonomous within this structure? I’m sure you can understand how liberating it is to have the freedom to speak about these things. But at the same time, one must be careful not to overplay one’s hand.
View of the former sculpture garden. Shinkichi Tajiri, OverhandKnot (1917) is exhibited. Courtesy of Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam.
View of Don Quixote Sculpture Hall at Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam, renovated as indoor space in honor of Amsterdam’s 750th Niki de Saint Phalle, Tete Blanche, 1970 and Damien Hirst, The Incredible Journey, 2008 are exhibited. Photo: Peter Tijhuis.
How can knowledge production in a museum be defined and presented? When we talk about democracy, we’re also talking about the democratization of knowledge. In the West—and arguably globally— we’ve long upheld the idea that only academic, research-based knowledge is valid, while other forms are often dismissed as not “real.” The criticism on this assumption underpins our knowledge-sharing program, which comes together in the Stedelijk Studies Journal. On our website, we have a “Call for Research” page. I changed the original “Call for Papers” to “Call for Research” in my second year. The purpose of this shift was to open the journal to diverse forms of research—artistic, sonic, and many others. It was a small change, but a significant one. We also expanded the website beyond the journal to include multiple levels of knowledge and ways of knowing. For example, students who work with us as interns conduct research that would typically return to their institutions and remain unseen. Now, we publish it on the website. One example is the essay “The Don Quixote Sculpture Hall,” written by Tijmen ter Keurs, a curatorial intern.[1] It explores the museum’s sculpture hall, which historically replaced a sculpture garden. This creates a spectrum: On one end, we have the peer-reviewed journal, which is rigorous and involves professors from around the world. On the other end, we have texts by MA students. Each contributes to a plurality of knowledges.
In terms of collection presentation, we’ve made significant changes in how we view and display the collection. While searching for more works by female artists, we came across a painting by Anneke van der Feer (1902–56), depicting a [short-haired] woman smoking and wearing work clothes. It’s striking because it resonates with today’s conversations around gender fluidity—showing that such discussions were already happening a century ago and were even captured in art! This painting has become a visitor favorite, although it was not shown for decades. When you allow students to follow their curiosity, unexpected knowledge emerges—stories and histories that would otherwise remain hidden. This research about Anneke van der Feer was done by one of our interns, Isabella Legebeke.[2]
Anneke van der Feer, Self-portrait, 1938, oil on canvas, 73 × 60 cm. Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam.
CL: Let me give you some background and context for the editorial fellowship and the environment in which it emerged. At the Stedelijk Studies Journal, which is double-blind peer-reviewed, we initially received most of our abstracts from Europe and North America. After introducing compensation of 400 euro for submission, we began receiving more abstracts from Eastern Europe—where 400 euro can cover a month’s rent. However, we received almost no submissions from the African continent and very few from Asia—perhaps one from Hong Kong—and maybe one from South America.
What I discovered is that the peer review process, as we know it in the West, is considered problematic in cultural contexts of Africa. This meant we couldn’t engage with African writers and producers in the same way we do with Western contributors. That realization was one of the key reasons we launched the editorial fellowship. In collaboration with the art platform Contemporary And (C&), we recognized the need for an editor on the ground—someone who could communicate effectively with local makers and translate between their practices and our institutional expectations. This is how the process unfolded in Nairobi, and it was incredibly valuable. We learned a lot—not just about how to communicate but also about how not to communicate. The editor in Nairobi also gained insight into our critical frameworks and is now better equipped to work with Western institutions. It was a mutual learning experience—a true win-win. And, importantly, it fed back into our own editorial processes.
Now, we’re working in a completely different context: with the MMCA in Korea. We thought we were efficient—until we met you! It’s clear we need to step up our game. The MMCA is highly results driven, while we are deeply process driven. This is where the collaboration becomes exciting: We can learn from each other. Perhaps we should become more focused on outcomes, while you might find value in our emphasis on learning through the process. We trust the result will be strong—everyone involved is a professional—but we’re also interested in what we learn along the way. This collaboration also gives us the opportunity to engage with Korean thinkers and makers— voices we wouldn’t normally encounter through the Stedelijk Studies.
I believe the conversations within your working group are essential. The final publication or book is just the end point—the real magic happens in the time between. That’s why we’re so interested in your notes, your images, and the messiness of the process itself. It may go against your existing norms, but for us that’s the most exciting part.
TC: Our working group members are active in the field as producers, curators, and researchers, and it’s impressive that you emphasized the interactions between makers and local thinkers in Korea are crucial. It has given us a clearer sense of direction for how this project is moving forward. If anyone has comments or questions, please feel free to continue the discussion.
Sooyoung Leam (SL): I have a practical question. As I’ve been thinking about the potential audience for the publication I’m currently working on as a fellow, I was wondering whether you usually have a specific readership in mind when developing a journal issue or Szine. Are you aiming to engage distinct audiences with each type of publication? Additionally, since you likely have both domestic readers in the Netherlands and an international audience, how much do you consider the readership when planning research and publication projects?
CL: At first, it was really about democratizing what counts as knowledge and how it’s produced. We’ve noticed something interesting: Our largest reader group is now between eighteen and thirty-five years old. It used to be 35-plus, but younger people are now visiting the Stedelijk Studies website more frequently. With that shift in mind, the foundation remains the double-blind peer-reviewed essays in the Stedelijk Studies. But that format is tough—it’s expensive, and it speaks to a very specific audience. So I started thinking: How can I turn a peer-reviewed paper into an eight-hundred-word piece in everyday language?
If I can’t explain it to my mother, I probably don’t understand it myself. The peer-reviewed journal is really for people at a master’s level who can engage deeply with the text. It’s not for the general public. But it’s important to have it—it’s like the backbone that supports everything else. It shows critics that we know how to do rigorous research, and it gives us credibility.
We’re also working on making the website more user-friendly. Right now, you can browse by category, journal, and curatorial practices in the “Search” tab of the website. Each essay has around ten to twenty tags—like “archive,” “education,” “painting,” and so on. One of our editors, Carlos Zepeda, actually read every article on the site and tagged them all manually. That kind of work helps make the content more accessible and searchable for different kinds of readers.
TC: The MMCA is running an online platform dedicated to post-war Korean art called the MMCA Research Lab. This website is largely based on our institution’s research and archive and provides information on artworks while providing an introduction to Korean art history. When we categorize and create hashtags to connect content and establish searchable keywords, even if we cooperate with in-house team members we feel a significant responsibility to ensure accuracy. In Stedelijk Studies, while involving interns brings fresh perspectives, I wonder whether you’ve encountered concerns from experts who might not fully acknowledge their work. Have you faced challenges regarding maintaining academic accuracy and clarity, and how do you address them?
CL: In the research department, we have a few people whose job is to verify everything. Of course, the curator is expected to know what they’re talking about, but before anything goes up on the museum wall, it’s reviewed by researchers who double-check names, dates, and collection details. The curator writes the text or gives input, and then it goes through several filters—not just for fact-checking but also for tone of voice and the kind of language used. We pay close attention to how curators phrase things. And, for the journal, every article goes through double-blind peer review. That ensures academic rigor. But for other publications on the Stedelijk Studies website, it’s a bit different. Our editor and I read everything that gets uploaded, and if something feels off, we double-check the facts ourselves.
In recent years, we’ve also introduced a new policy—not just about accuracy but about language use. For example, when a female artist creates something, the text often says she was in an apprenticeship, learned from someone, and now she makes her own work. But when it’s a male artist, we just say he made it—no mention of mentorship. So now our policy is: If you mention an apprenticeship for a woman, you have to do the same for a man. Otherwise, you’re reinforcing gender stereotypes, and we’re not okay with that.
Kim Namin: I’m curious how experimental and innovative initiatives in Stedelijk Studies connect with other activities within the museum. Is it operated more independently, or how does it integrate with other museum programs in specific ways? Also, I would like to ask about the relationship between the website users and the general visitors to the museum.
CL: Right now, we’re working on synchronizing marketing communications with public programs and publications. For example, we now publish related texts or conversations online about two weeks before an exhibition opens. That’s when marketing starts promoting the show, so people can actually read about it before they visit. In the past, we’d only have the text ready after the opening. Now, the content on Stedelijk Studies has become part of the marketing tool kit.
As for our audience, we do have a lot of younger visitors, but the backbone of the museum is still the older generation. Interestingly, younger visitors tend to give us higher appreciation ratings. They engage with the collection that resonate with them, like Anneke van der Feer’s painting of a woman smoking a cigarette, and post on social media—“Look at me, I’m here!” Meanwhile, the older generation wants to see the classic male icons—the big works they grew up with. So they’re a bit more critical of newer exhibitions. Balancing these two groups—the younger, more exploratory audience and the older, more traditional one—is a great challenge. It’s really about navigating that crossroads.
Jeon Youjin: Since 2017, I’ve been building a community, named Woman Open Tech Lab, around technology—especially focusing on the kinds of gaps it creates, like gender bias. Like the Szine, I also regularly publish zines (Fem Tech Talk) about technology from feminist perspectives. In Korea, most of the language and discourse around technology, and even the technology itself, have been imported from the West. One of the big questions I keep returning to is: How can we create our own language around art and technology? A lot of young people in Korea, our community targets, really don’t enjoy reading. I think this lack of literacy is a huge barrier when it comes to building deeper conversations. I want to create a space where people feel encouraged to write and share their own texts about technology, but it can be difficult to get younger generations engaged. Looking at the Stedelijk Studies website, I was impressed by how you considered different forms of engagement. Even so, there are still people who aren’t drawn in, even with the site’s design with large photos over dense text. I’d love to hear your thoughts on this—how you’ve been thinking about these challenges and how you might approach them.
CL: First of all, about technology—I actually have the impression that most of our tech comes from Korea! So it’s really interesting to hear your perspective, where the experience is quite different. In Europe, there’s a lot of talk about Asian technology and how it’s shaping our society. So hearing the view from the other side is valuable.
When it comes to discourse production, I think it’s important to acknowledge that we’re part of a cultural elite. We get to sit here, talk philosophy, and get paid for it. So text-based activities tend to happen among intellectual or social-class peers. My advice is to do the practical work, and then write about it for your peers. But that also means recognizing that we’re not part of “the people”—even if we want to be. And that’s a hard truth. Once you make that distinction, you can start to understand your role. Personally, I speak to peers as a way to influence education and policymakers—the people who yield substantial power to change lives. As cultural workers, we don’t hold that power directly. But we can influence those who do. We’ve tried to deliver knowledge via Instagram, but it doesn’t really connect with the broader audience. I’m not talking to “the people,” even though I want to. I’m a senior figure in a big museum, and that creates a certain distance.
Two things I always keep in mind: firstly, “Explain it to me like I’m four,” or “Say it in a way my mother would understand.” If I can’t explain it to her, for whom uninitiated in the cultural space, then who am I really talking to? Secondly, we need to learn to talk to the money. When we talk among ourselves, we get it. But it’s the money— funders, institutions—that can actually change society. So how do we translate our ideas in a way that they can act on? Basically, the practice is what you do on the ground. But the texts aren’t for the people you’re working with directly—they’re for those who can amplify or support that work.
And here’s something I think is really important: As cultural workers, we need to see our writing as theory building. That’s our responsibility. When we write, we’re not just documenting—we’re creating frameworks that might shape future thinking. We might not reach the current generation directly. But the twenty-year-olds reading our work today—in ten years, they could be professors, teachers, or cultural leaders. They’ll teach the theory we’re building now to their students. So the impact of our writing is long-term. It’s not about changing things today—it’s about laying the groundwork for what’s possible tomorrow. That’s why imagination is key. We need to imagine what the future could be. You’re talking about technology in Korea— but what could it be? Whatever you imagine now is for the next generation to realize. We’re just laying the foundation, like those before us did for us.
SL: Maybe that question could be posed differently: backward toward the future, toward history. Because I was trained as an art historian, I’m always dealing with historical materials and speculating how history could have unfolded differently and what could have been done differently. [What could it have been?] I think that’s also a question that we could be asking.
CL: That’s actually a methodology of critical fabulation.[3] It’s about imagining how things could have been otherwise—rethinking the past to shape a present that might have unfolded differently. These techniques already exist, and they’re incredibly useful. But the most important part of all this is your personal subject position. Understanding where you stand—your perspective, your context—is a key. It’ll save you a lot of heartache and frustration down the road. Because how you speculate, how you interpret history, is always shaped by where you’re coming from.
Yi Moon-seok: My question is about something you mentioned earlier: You said that many regions in Asia, except Hong Kong, did not submit abstracts to Stedelijk Studies, but Europe and North America contributed a lot. I’m curious: Which regions in Europe mainly provided this knowledge? When I dive deeper into understanding Asia, I often find myself lumping Europe together, thinking of it as a whole. But regions like the Baltics, the Balkans, and the Caucasus are completely different cultural spheres from the regions well-known to Koreans like the UK, France, and Germany. I wonder if these regions also contributed to the Stedelijk Museum’s knowledge production or if there were any marginalized regions.
CL: It really comes down to understanding positionality. When we say “Europe,” we’re usually referring to northwestern Europe—the colonizing countries like the UK, the Netherlands, Germany, France, and to some extent Spain and Belgium. Then there’s southern Europe, and eastern Europe, which is often still referred to as “European,” but clearly sits lower in the hierarchy. So, even within Europe, there’s a power dynamic—a hierarchy of who gets to produce dominant discourse. Theoretical frameworks from southern and eastern Europe do exist, but they’re often treated as supplements to the dominant discourse coming out of northwestern Europe and North America. It’s about hegemony—who has the power to speak, who sets the narrative. And I’m sure it’s similar in Asia. There’s always a center of gravity, a dominant voice, and other regions are expected to orbit around it.
Just yesterday, I learned that Korean beauty standards are hegemonic across Asia. People aspire to look like Korean beauty ideals. And it’s the same intellectually—people aspire to be seen as intellectuals within a dominant framework. So as a Korean intellectual, it’s important to understand your position within that system. Where does your country’s intellectual production stand in relation to the dominant discourse? It’s about understanding your own position—where you’re speaking from and how that aligns or doesn’t align with the dominant frameworks. That awareness helps clarify your voice and your strategy for engaging with global discourse.
Eugene Hannah Park (EHP): As a freelancer engaged with a lot of different institutions, [I have noticed that] museums have always been the center in the ecosystem of giving funds to artists and researchers. In a way [museums] have become like the bank of the cultural capital. In terms of that, it’s very interesting that the artistic research becomes the core practice of the Stedelijk Studies. So one of my questions is: Why is artistic research important to the museum? Because historically the research I have engaged in or encountered in museums is closer to an art historical approach. So your emphasis on artistic research brings up a lot of questions for me.
CL: The answer is actually quite simple: I’m first and foremost an artist. I was trained in something called theory and practice—that’s what it was called back then. It later evolved into artistic research. I was part of the very first group of bachelor’s students at Goldsmiths University trained in this way.
So when I work within the curatorial practice department, especially around policymaking, I approach it through the lens of artistic research. And for me the most important starting point is acknowledging the subject position of the museum. The museum isn’t just a building or an institution—it’s a living entity. Coming from a Surinamese background, I often think of things as beings. That might sound strange to Western ears, where things are just “things.” But the museum is 125 years old—it’s not nobody; it’s somebody. So I need a method of conversation with her. When I talk to her, she’s an old lady—someone I respect. I know I can’t force my will on her. I have to negotiate with her: How are we going to do this, now that we’re in the twenty-first century?
I try to build a relationship with her so she doesn’t chew me up. Because she’s big, she’s strong, and she can chew me up and spit me out. You need to be friends with the museum on some level. I don’t force my ideas on her—I negotiate them. The museum, by nature, doesn’t want to change. It’s like a big ship—it doesn’t turn easily. The best you can do is maybe change the waters it sails through.
This is my personal philosophy: You can work around her or with her, but you can’t force her. She’s a system. And it’s a well-designed system. If you push too hard, the system will push you out—and it often happens through the reactions of colleagues. When someone does something that goes completely against what I’m trying to do, I remind myself: It’s not the person—it’s the system. And I’ve noticed this in myself too. After five years, I’m becoming the system. I’m starting to protect it. So I have to stay aware of that—of how I’m being shaped by it. The question becomes: How do I keep my autonomy while she slowly encapsulates me?
EHP: I have one more question. As a person who is interested in building collaborations in terms of knowledge production around Asia, [how did you come up with the idea of] collaborating with the museum in Korea? Because I could also believe there would be a lot of different ways to access what you refer to as the on-ground. I’m curious how the conversation developed through the museum, especially in this joint publication project.
CL: Honestly, I wasn’t planning to work with the museum at all. I had a long list of other organizations in Seoul and beyond that I wanted to connect with. But somehow it just happened—I walked into this building two years ago, and I fell in love with it. The architecture, the energy, the art—it really spoke to me.
Back in the Netherlands, people often compare us to the MoMA or the Whitney [in New York City]. But my director once said, “We’re actually more like the MMCA.” We’re not a private institution trying to make big money—that’s not our role. Our job is to create discourse, to help people understand who we are and who we could become. So with that in mind, I thought: Why not collaborate with the MMCA? What’s special about working with the MMCA is that the power dynamic isn’t there. We’re on the same page. It’s a different kind of collaboration—one built on mutual respect and the understanding that we’re important to each other. We want to stay friends, and we want to keep learning from each other.
Since 1989, the MMCA has published its research journals, establishing the foundation for museum studies. The publications evolved from Journal of the Art & Museum Studies (1989–2008), Modern Art Studies (2004–08), and Journal of the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, Korea (2009–18) to the bilingual MMCA Studies (2019–), which strengthened contemporary art criticism. Photo: Jung Jihyun, 2024.
SL: Since you mentioned that your core practice and training are in artistic research, I’m curious how you navigate or balance artistic decisions with practical ones. Because I think practice and practicalities always go hand in hand, and practicalities often draw certain boundaries around what we can do and what can’t be done. And I’m wondering how you manage this sort of artistic versus practical decision or thinking especially when you’re leading a whole research team at a huge institution.
CL: When we talk about artistic practice, the first thing I always ask— whether it’s of students or colleagues—is: What’s the core question? Ask yourself “why” seven times, and eventually you’ll get to the heart of it. That’s what matters: What are you really trying to do? For me, my research started with the idea of hybrid cultural identity back in my bachelor’s. By the time I got to my PhD, it had developed into a theoretical framework where I say: Hybridity is ground zero. Everything is a hybrid. You can’t say, “I’m part Dutch, part Surinamese.” No—I exist in a new space, a new environment. That’s important to me, because I’m trying to create an environment in the Netherlands where everyone— especially from migrant communities—feels safe and at home.
All my decisions come back to that core. Whether it’s art or research, I always ask: Why am I doing this? What’s the deeper reason I’m in this job? Because if you don’t know, you’ll do this work for twenty years and feel lost. And if you’re in it for the money, that’s fine too—but be honest about it. Just know your “why.” That’s your North Star. Everything gets measured against that. So when we’re making a book, selecting artists, or developing content, I’m always asking: How can I make this as broad and inclusive as possible? If there are too many male artists, I cut some. I need more female artists. I need queer artists. I’m constantly rebalancing to reflect that core value.
SL: We really appreciate you so generously sharing your experiences, thoughts, and speculation.
Charl Landvreugd is an artist, curator, and educator who serves as Head of Research & Curatorial Practice at the Stedelijk Museum in Amsterdam. He holds a PhD in Curating Contemporary Art from the Royal College of Art in London and has held various fellowships, including at BAK Utrecht, the Van Abbemuseum, and the Research Center for Material Culture. His writing has been published in leading art journals and magazines such as Open Arts Journal, Small Axe Magazine, ARC Magazine, Uprising Art, and Metropolis M. He is a member of the Akademie van Kunsten and the author of Dutch Afro Becomings: Hybrid Being in Black Art and Culture.
[1] Tijmen ter Keurs, “The Don Quixote Sculpture Hall: Challenges and Opportunities of Curating a Public Indoor Sculpture Garden,” Stedelijk Studies, January 7, 2025.
[2] Isabella Legebeke, “A Close Friendship: Anneke van der Feer and Antonia van den Hoogen-Berlijn,” Stedelijk Studies, November 6, 2024.
[3] Saidiya Hartman coined the term “critical fabulation” to describe a narrative technique that, while grounded in historical fact and record, reassembles events or approaches historical incidents from multiple interpretive angles—combining imagination and speculation about what “might have happened” with what is historically known. Saidiya Hartman, “Venus in Two Acts,” Small Axe 12 (2), 2008, 1–14.
Fellow Sooyoung Leam
