issue 33| culture as a bubble (or not)

On Sunday night, as the two slow weeks between Christmas and the New Year drew to a close, I felt sad and frustrated. It was time to leave my bubble and return to reality, I thought. This bubble had been a space of freedom—an empty calendar where each day unfolded in the moment. It was filled with culture: art, exhibitions, music, cinema, and reading. I had spent the days exploring new artists’ works and creating pieces of my own as part of my artistic practice (I finished a portrait, made a new painting, finalised the first collage of my “definitions of translation” series, and updated my City in Translation platform, which I will soon launch with new content.)

These emotions of sadness and frustration arose from the realisation that my schedule would soon be filled with appointments—not always of my own choosing. But that night, I was wrong to define this experience as “a bubble.”

While returning to work—whether employed in an office or freelancing for clients—can feel restrictive (even in a cultural setting), the idea that engaging with arts and culture without any material goal means staying in a bubble is flawed. It reflects an elitist view that separates culture from everyday life and aligns with arguments often associated with conservative politics: that culture is exclusive to the few and therefore not worthy of public funding.

A few years ago, I was speaking with a colleague, a prominent voice in the international literary community, about my journey in literature and the arts. We were in the gardens of the Abbaye de la Cambre, a former abbey turned arts school in Brussels, a city we both had called home at some point in our lives. I alluded to our artistic, literary, and academic world—filled with imagination, reflection, and discourse—as somehow detached from reality, unlike people with “real jobs.” My colleague stopped me and said, “But we are real”.

He is right. To suggest that culture is separate from a so-called real world is to erase the existence of the cultural workers who make it possible: artists, curators, technicians, administrators, writers, archivists, tour guides, translators, and so many more; everyone involved in creating spaces where imagination thrives. Most importantly, it erases the urgency behind any creative act.

His words came back to me over the past two weeks. As I watched films and series—documentary and fiction—in local cinemas and on streaming services, saw exhibitions in Amsterdam and Rotterdam, and read books both print and on my Kobo, and listened to audiobooks (since short available on Spotify), it was clear that none of these experiences exist in a bubble. Each is deeply connected to the world because they simply are part of the world. They invited me to reflect, learn, and discover, to be challenged and moved, to dream, laugh, and cry. These works create space for imagination to flourish, offering glimpses of a world that could be less violent and more equal. Every artistic expression is, in its own way, a step toward justice.

My friend is right: our world of culture and arts is reality. Writing books and poetry is reality. It’s maybe even the closest we get to the truth. And yet, its practices can be as problematic as the systems it exists in. 

Reflecting on the role of the arts, literature, and culture, and its mechanisms of functioning on different levels, is an ongoing process for me. For those of you who have been reading this newsletter for a while, you know I strongly advocate for accessibility in the arts—not just for audiences but for creators as well. Too often, the systems that govern the arts stifle true freedom of expression, whether through financial constraints, unequal power dynamics, systemic discriminations, a lack of transparency in its practices,  (self-) censorship, and many more challenges.

“A work of art only comes alive when someone interacts with it.”

—Jennifer Higgie

I’ve been reading a fascinating book by Jennifer Higgie (the author of The Mirror and the Palette, which I wrote about in issue 31) titled The Other Side: A Story of Women in Art and the Spirit World. Weaving in and out of the lives of many artists while sharing her own memories of otherworldly experiences, Higgie discusses the solace of ritual, the gender exclusions of art history, the contemporary relevance of myth, the boom in alternative ways of understanding the world and the impact of spiritualism on feminism and contemporary art. 

At some point in the book, she describes the art world in terms of “the good (a world without art is not somewhere I want to live); the bad (art made for all the wrong reasons—propaganda, self-interest, material gain, sensationalism); and the ugly (billionaires competing for the most expensive artworks in order to show off).” Her words hit a chord. Culture, for all its capacity for imagination and beauty, does not escape the complexities and inequalities of the systems it is created in. 

This also means that a lot of art is made based on views I would personally condemn rather than celebrate, yet I wouldn’t advocate for their right not to exist, as long as we can create spaces where different perspectives can be expressed, seen and truly engaged with. But this can only work in systems where we can respond to each other on equal terms, which is impossible when the powers at play not only erase your story but make sure you cannot breathe to tell it. 

Read in this context, I empathise with the artists Higgie presents in her book, and their need to connect to “the other side”. And maybe that is what my two weeks felt like a little; living in the moment and connecting with arts in my own terms, punctuated by ritualistic gestures, was in itself a spiritual experience.

Over the past two weeks, I have engaged with both popular works and more artistic creations that I think shape our understanding of society. I’ll reflect on three very different examples: Johan Grimonprez’s documentary Soundtrack to a Coup d’État, the TV series New Amsterdam, and Thomas J. Price’s exhibition Matter of Place at the Kunsthal in Rotterdam.

Johan Grimonprez’s Soundtrack to a Coup d’État is a 2.5-hour documentary that unearths a history I never encountered in my Belgian education: the assassination of Patrice Lumumba shortly after Congo’s declaration of independence, and the global forces that shaped these events. The film sets the stage with the broader international context of the Cold War, the American civil rights movement, and the Non-Aligned Movement in the UN, before focusing on the murder of Congo’s first democratically elected leader in 1961. Grimonprez makes clear the direct involvement of Belgian and US governments, motivated by their fear of losing access to Congolese uranium.

What makes this documentary extraordinary is not only its historical insights but also its ability to link societies across time and geographies, and directly to our lives today. For instance, Grimonprez includes abrupt cuts to Tesla and iPhone advertisements, reminding viewers that today’s global economy is rooted in the same exploitative systems. The film also connects these historical events to jazz—highlighting how the genre, a symbol of freedom, was weaponized during the Cold War. Figures like Louis Armstrong were sent to Congo as “jazz ambassadors” to distract from political meddling, even as musicians like Abbey Lincoln and Max Roach protested Lumumba’s murder at the UN. The film raises unsettling questions: How can art be co-opted to obscure oppression? And how can cultural expressions simultaneously inform us of truths that official histories suppress?

From the cinema I shift to my TV screen: to New Amsterdam, created by David Schulner, and based on the book Twelve Patients: Life and Death at Bellevue by Eric Manheimer. On the surface, this medical drama available on Netflix fits the mould of sentimental popular entertainment. Yet it surprises with its engagement with pressing societal issues, such as the pandemic’s disproportionate impact on communities of color and lower-income populations, sex workers rights, immigration laws and more. One particularly powerful episode addresses the US Supreme Court’s overturning of Roe v. Wade and its devastating implications for reproductive rights.

While the show’s format adheres to market and algorithm-driven goals, it still pushes viewers to reflect, empathise, and confront uncomfortable truths, especially when it comes to connections between power, politics and social justice, and the important role the medical industry plays in these dynamics. 

I also want to highlight Thomas J. Price’s exhibition at the Kunsthal in Rotterdam. Price’s work focuses on everyday people, often those who are overlooked, and challenges societal perceptions of power, race, and identity. While his sculptures are monumental, they connect with viewers on a personal level as they capture daily gestures and expressions we all can recognise and relate to.

One particularly striking piece is Mixed Feelings About Bus Drivers from 2004, a small, Roman-­style bust of a Black man resting on a shelf made of a scrap of wood, and mounted on the wall with a single screw. For this sculpture Price found inspiration in his observations of London bus drivers. They reminded him of classical Roman marble sculptures, of living busts sitting behind the steering wheel. This led to the creation of a small, white bust, made from plaster and marble powder. The white colour refers to the Western tradition of white classical sculptures that are considered to be the epitome of beauty and power. By elevating the social status of a bus driver and placing the bust lower on the wall, surrounded by ample space in the exhibition, Price compels us to bend down to view it. This arrangement challenges traditional views on power and representation. Furthermore, by using easily available materials like plaster and reclaimed wood and securing the bust with only a single screw, Price continues to question conventional expectations.

In the Netherlands, a country grappling with deeply ingrained systemic racism in its institutions, Price’s work is especially urgent. His art confronts the marginalisation of Black individuals and elevates their presence in spaces often dominated by Eurocentric narratives.

One piece that resonated with the public is Price’s sculpture installed in front of Rotterdam Central Station. Positioned in a busy, accessible public space, the artwork sparked conversations and reflection among people, as well as joy and pride, drawing attention to the ways art can intersect with everyday life.

“Society really is just the stories we tell each other about one another and about ourselves,” filmmaker Ava Duvernay (whose work I admire so deeply I wrote about it before) says in this video interview with Forbes. The conversation touches on being a late bloomer as an artist, on the possibilities of philanthropy and participatory grant-making to create spaces of freedom for artists and creatives, on being the change we want to see and create the spaces for more people to bloom and tell their stories. She touches on the different layers of culture and the arts: from its funding to its impact on societies, and the importance of nurturing imagination, that all connect to my point that searching for answers in cultural experiences is far from hiding in a bubble.

If there is a so-called bubble of culture, it is not an escape from reality but a lifeline. It connects us to histories, perspectives, and emotions that help us exist with dignity. It is a source of oxygen in a polarised world, offering us the tools to collectively imagine and build something better. Although I will miss the freedom of an empty calendar, I will always turn back to the urgency of culture, and that sentiment, I am taking back with me to work.

May your new year be filled with arts, literature, creativity, and justice for all!

A FEW THINGS THAT MAKE ME THINK AND FEEL…

As you have just read, I have been seeing and reading a lot of interesting art, so here are a few works I’d like to add:

• Pedro Almodovar’s The Room Next Door with Tilda Swinton and Julianne Moore is absolutely superb - artistically and emotionally. It is so beautiful, it did not make me sad at all, I found the story so empowering, with characters having agency over their life and true care for one another. It is a film filled with exquisite cinematography and tangible tenderness.

• The documentary film Black Box Diaries by Shiori Ito is a disturbing #metoo account from Japan, poignantly told by its main protagonist, the filmmaker herself, and highlighting the flaws of the justice system. Ito also wrote a book about her experience, which was translated in many languages.

• I loved listening to Ta-Nehisi Coates read his latest book The Message as an audiobook on Spotify. It’s available as a book too if you prefer reading yourself. In any case, it’s a necessary read as Coates makes important connections taking us to Senegal, South Carolina and Palestine. In these three intertwining essays he writes about politics, history, the construction of narratives and about writing.

• and a book that has accompanied me throughout these last two weeks, making me explore new techniques in photography, is The Women Who Changed Photography: And How to Master Their Techniques by Gemma Padley, which gives a short but fascinating account of 50 photographers from all around the world, working across different decades from the end of the 19th century to today. I have already discovered incredible new photographers (one, Liz Johnson Artur, has her work on show at Kunstinstituut Melly in Rotterdam) and have tried new techniques (it’s all collected in a special sketch/notebook).

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Canan Marasligil (she/they) is a writer, literary translator and artist based in Amsterdam. She established the attention span website and its newsletter to publish their work independently: making the time to reflect, analyse and imagine.

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