AN INTERVIEW WITH MIA DALGLISH AND LISA WOODWARD

We’re delighted to collaborate for a second time with Pictura Gallery at the FAR Center for Contemporary Arts in Bloomington, Indiana for our Series Award. Mia Dalglish and Lisa Woodward, Co-Curators at the gallery, will be helming the judging process as well as curating the winner’s exhibition to be held in Fall 2025.

We previously interviewed Mia and Lisa, to ask them about the often misunderstood profession of curation, and to learn more about their process and what they look for in a winning series – you can read that here. In this article, we talk about our first collaboration with Edition IX winning photographer Charles Xelot, and delve deeper into what makes them tick, and their views on how to make a photography series that stands out, and the pitfalls to avoid along the way…

BANNER IMAGE: CHARLES XELOT’S SERIES AWARD EXHIBITION AT PICTURA GALLERY, JUNE – AUGUST 2024.

Hello Mia and Lisa. It’s wonderful to be working with you on our Series Award for a second year running. How has everything been at Pictura Gallery since Charles Xelot (our Edition IX winner)’s exhibition?

We’re equally thrilled to be working on the Series Award again! The exhibition with Charles turned out so beautifully. Our community was fascinated by the show, and people kept coming back to see it again.

It’s been a good season at the gallery. We’re developing a new pilot residency program for two artists from different countries to come and work together in Bloomington. We recently curated an exquisite show with Clarissa Bonet. We tried out the bonkers idea of having improv comedians from Chicago come to the gallery to create skits based on her photographs. It worked surprisingly well, and it felt like a new way for people to connect with photography. We have more (weird) ideas gestating, and some solid shows coming up. And happily, we find ourselves doing more and more work that connects internationally with photography.

What was your favorite part of the process last time around?
Charles is so brightly creative in his approach to what’s possible for photography, which made for great group brainstorming when it came to designing the installation. It was gratifying to form an exhibition from such a deep and rich pool of work. And of course, his prints are incredible in person; it’s completely different to experience them on a physical level. We got to fill the room with icy seas and imposing ships that seemed to be sailing right off the wall.

We were also grateful to be introduced to lots of new work during the jurying process. Even though there could only be one winner of the competition, there were multiple artists we wanted to connect with after seeing their project submissions.

What sort of things will you be looking for in submissions this time? For people who view and review photography almost every day, what does it take for a series to stand out?
A series doesn’t need to be completely novel for it to catch our eyes. But it does need depth. If work looks slick on the surface but doesn’t develop more complexity beyond that, then it’s not enough for us. We want to dig further into a project and continue to find layers worth uncovering. And when expertly crafted, a work can still feel like a “new” discovery, because the photographer is able to show the familiar in a fresh way.

Are there any common mistakes you see, or things to avoid, when photographers present a series of work?
Sometimes, in order to make things cohesive, artists will come up with a rigid formula that every picture must follow. This works for some projects, but more often you end up with a collection of images that all look like the same photograph. Cohesion can be established by building a consistent tone and aesthetic throughout the series. Often, a more subtle approach can create a richer body of work overall.

There can be a disconnect between what the photographer thinks that they are offering the viewer, and what is actually intelligible in the work. Some photographers may hesitate to take out their weakest links because of personal attachment to an image. It’s good to talk through your edit with multiple people you trust and tighten up your submission.

Tell us about a series of work or perhaps an exhibition that really grabbed you this year.
We were both really taken with Debi Cornwall’s exhibition Model Citizens in Arles this past summer. We have followed her work for a long time, but had not yet seen it installed.

The prints were plotted in a maze-like pattern throughout the gallery, so that disorientation and surprise were built into the viewer’s experience. It was clear that every detail of the installation had been carefully considered, and the power in her images was magnified on the walls. The series is disturbing to an American consciousness, but Cornwall’s clean, formal compositions and lyrical aesthetic details kept us riveted. She got us to take a long look at something we don’t want to see.

How does your judging process work? Do you work together from the outset, or consider in isolation and then discuss?
Initially, we like to look at the submissions independently, then come together with our thoughts to discuss and argue until decisions clarify. One of us may call attention to something the other overlooked, so it’s a great way to give everything a fair shake.

At what point are you thinking about how the images could look in a gallery setting? Do your minds race there straight away, or is that a challenge for later on?
One of the first things we do when getting to know a project is to try and define what its ideal mode of presentation should be. Is it a book? Is it meant to be displayed traditionally, with framed prints on a wall? Is it an installation involving other materials?
Final presentation is such a key part in determining the overall success of a project. When it’s poorly executed, good work can lose its quality; when it’s done well, a series can be elevated to a whole new level. So, I guess that’s our long-winded way of saying yes, we do think about this right away.

What’s the best thing about being a curator, and perhaps the worst?
The worst thing for me (Lisa) may be having to flatly say “no,” or to deliver a discouraging opinion that a project is simply not working. I always strive to encourage artists, so a “no” is doubly hard when someone sees critique as a dead-end roadblock instead of a puzzle to solve. But I try to push through with honesty, because it’s ultimately more helpful to the artist.

I love so many aspects of the job, especially working with the artists on the edit. And I relish the times when I can secretly observe a visitor looking at the work on the walls, who then goes and excitedly shares what they’ve discovered with their friends – art is like a little fire spreading in the room.

I, (Mia) find it can be difficult to convince people that the photographic medium is precious as an art form. Increasingly, viewers are used to taking in images in 0.3 second increments while scrolling through a digital feed. We consume more images than ever, but also see them as increasingly disposable. As an artistic medium, and a deeper mode of communication, photography requires us to slow down. This is the hardest part of the job for me – It’s difficult to get people to spend time with images and you really have to find a way to interrupt short attention spans.

However, this challenge does relate to what I love most. I think of being a curator as being an interpreter. The photographer has made this amazing body of work, and I am trying to help translate this into a viewing experience for the audience. I love the constant challenge of taking concepts, aesthetics and emotions that an artist has built into a project, and successfully transposing that onto a wall. This process is fulfilling and endlessly interesting to me.

And finally, complete this sentence for us: “We’re passionate about photography because…”
… Look, you only get to experience the world through one pair of eyes. You have your vision and even that is fairly miraculous – that our eyes send images to the brain, that we have imagery at all. But with photography, you get the chance to look through someone else’s vision – to see what they see, and how they see. And not only in a passing way, like a film flicking by, but like the butterfly pinned still to a canvas. You can sit with someone else’s vision so close to you and marvel at what they’ve seen.