Breaking the spell of polite silence
I pulled a face. She’d said the unsayable: I didn’t like the exhibition. Not hated, not despised, I just didn’t like. It felt flat, unresolved, oddly performative, a checklist of familiar contemporary gestures. “Shh,” I said, eyes darting around the space. “You can’t say that. Not here. We’ll talk about it in the car.”
Such caution reflects a broader reality in a small art ecosystem: opinions circulate quickly and never exist in a vacuum. Every sentence echoes off the same ten gallery walls. Every comment travels faster than the northern wind. In a community where artists, curators, and writers often collaborate across multiple roles, critical reflection can be interpreted less as a dialogue about the work and more as a comment on the individual behind it. And somehow, somewhere along the way, this has created an atmosphere where constructive critique feels risky, where saying “this doesn’t quite work” can be mistaken for a personal judgement rather than a professional evaluation. Is it the case that the visual arts scene overflows with praise, but criticism has gone missing, presumed dead?
But, critical discourse is not opposition; it is part of a healthy artistic ecology. Re-engaging with thoughtful critique is essential if the scene is to continue evolving. Creating space for honest conversation, grounded in respect, curiosity, and the shared goal of strengthening artistic practice, could help shift criticism from something to avoid into something that genuinely contributes.
Be nice, be strategic, be careful, don’t rock the boat. In small art communities, artists, curators, and writers often carry a collective superstition: challenge the wrong person and you risk losing opportunities, exhibitions, friendships, even access to institutions. The hierarchy might be informal, yet unmistakably obvious; even a minor misstep can feel consequential. We’ve been warned outright: “If you publish that review, half the scene will turn against you.” Not as a joke or an exaggeration, but offered as pragmatic guidance from an artist. Of course people are afraid to write under such circumstances. Of course criticism is rare. Of course everyone waits for someone else to speak first.
In a community where everyone knows everyone, critique can easily feel like betrayal, so avoidance has come to be seen as kindness. When asked who might take on this responsibility, the response is often framed as entering career-ending territory, a common concern among regarded professionals. And that leaves us with a landscape where work is shielded from analysis because analysis is mistakenly interpreted as hostility. The result is predictable. We wonder why criticism is scarce? If honest writing is perceived as a social threat rather than a cultural necessity, then celebratory blurbs and polite recaps stand in for reviews, while the more challenging aspects of art, debate, disagreement, interpretation, complexity and risk, fade into the background.
This includes conversations about matters of political urgency, issues like immigration, social justice, inequality and cultural appropriation, topics often tiptoed around, or treated superficially. Fear of taking a political stance can allow virtue signaling or unethical practices to continue unchallenged, with little critique or intervention. If critique becomes synonymous with cruelty, we lose the possibility of growth. If every artwork must be handled like a fragile heirloom, we lose the joy of genuine encounter. If every opinion risks exile, we end up with a mono-culture of conformity and fear. Conformity and fear that then begets a distrustful and competitive atmosphere where people are pitted against each other. To be included is to be accepted, exhibited, given opportunities, but at what cost and for how long will it last?
Through this journal, we aim to approach things a little differently. We may write occasional art reviews, look closely at structures that shape our field, and offer honest reflections on exhibitions and processes. But we will just as eagerly visit artists’ studios, celebrate the work that moves us, ask questions with curiosity, and share opportunities and practical tools.
We are not suggesting that criticism is absent in Iceland, and we are certainly not claiming to be the first to pursue a project like this. Thoughtful writers are already contributing important work, and countless initiatives like ours have taken shape in Iceland. The challenge is always maintaining longevity, sustaining momentum. What we are saying is that the field benefits from more voices, more perspectives, and more space for sincere reflections, without fear of social consequence.
Our hope is that this blog can become the starting point for something larger: conversations, exhibitions, communal dinners, and submissions. We hope it can illuminate how the Icelandic art scene operates, where the gates remain closed, and how we might open them differently. Should we break the gates, or craft new keys? (we hate gates).
We’d like KOK to be a critical curatorial platform. We hope it will become a community, a knowledge exchange forum across generations of art workers, rooted in collaboration rather than competition. Together, we’d like to nurture alternative approaches to criticism and curation in Iceland. We truly believe that those who speak and write honestly and from the heart in a critical manner will not be shunned by half the art scene but rather welcomed. If not always through public opinion, then through the strengthening of a more engaged and reflective art scene. By speaking openly, we trust we are contributing to something more dynamic, more diverse, more alive.
We want to break the spell: in writing and action. Please join us for an afternoon at Nýló where we make firestarters and set our collective intentions alight for the coming year.
