On a chilly November weekend in Amsterdam, I stepped into Collaboration Station, a three-day event that gathered art and cultural workers – many of us based in the Netherlands – and delved deep into the conceptual and practical aspects of collectivizing. On the second day of the event, I talked to someone who had graduated from the Gerrit Rietveld Academie and referred to himself as a “starting artist.” He told me that he would like to get a studio space and then funding support, so that he could “get into the art world.”^[1] Accustomed to working by himself, he was new to the topic of collective work.

I found this narrative painfully recognizable to many who work in the arts, myself included. During my first years in the Netherlands, I internalized the independence that prevailed in my art education: I worked and produced by myself, searched for studio spaces by myself, wrote funding applications by myself. The result? I felt exhausted, isolated, and tired of the phrase “by myself”. Yet despite this, I must admit that I still mostly work on my own because some of my past attempts at working collectively have left me feeling, ironically, alone and weary.

I joined the event as someone who has collaborated sporadically and has had the aspiration to form or join a collective. In recent years, I have tried to unlearn what I got into by finding other art workers who are in the same precarious situation and discussing the conditions that shape the so-called art world. It is only through this process of understanding our shared conditions – and advocating for whatever alternatives might exist – that I can still continue as an artist. But how do we begin to work collectively, and sustain such work? How can we stay open and aligned with each other when working together? What are we actually fostering through collectivity? With these initial questions in mind, I joined the program where familiar and surprising stories awaited.

A necessity or an option?

“For us in Latin America, it is a necessity to collectivize, but here [in the Netherlands] it is more like an option.” This comment kept coming back to me over the course of the three days. At the event there were presenters and participants from (among other places) Mexico, Indonesia, Poland, and Russia, who work in different and sometimes hostile socio-economic and political climates. In comparison, the Netherlands seems buoyed by safety, wealth, and functioning democracy. The fact that in the Netherlands one has the “option” to collectivize, rather than it being a necessity, speaks to the social material reality – to borrow the phrase from Hackers and Designers, who presented on the second day^[2] – that we find ourselves in in this country. Although budget cuts have been part of the recent history and reality of Dutch cultural policy, there is at least the presence of state cultural funding to start with.^[3] Anecdotally, many artists move to the Netherlands because of the possibility to apply for funding that does not exist in other countries.

But once we become part of the funding system – by receiving grants as individual artists (who are required to register as ZZP’ers)^[4] – we quickly realize it is a double-edged sword. The existing system has fragmented cultural workers and pitted them against each other as competitors, and collaboration is often viewed and evaluated through the lens of “cultural entrepreneurship” rather than as a way to build solidarity.^[5],[6] In this system, artists are asked to produce and prove themselves via their CV – a document fraught with the neoliberal logic of meritocracy and the elitism that underlies it.^[7] For non-EU artists, the matter is even more convoluted. Not only do they need to prove themselves to receive the funds, in order to get their residence permit they also need to prove to the IND that they are entrepreneurs with a monthly income beyond the earning potential of most artists.^[8]

That said, I find the conditions in the Netherlands somewhat generative, thanks to the presence of mechanisms that pave the way for democratic discussions – for example, in the case of citizen lobbying (more on this later). They are grounds where effective, even paradigm-shifting strategies, negotiations, and advocacies can proliferate. I’d like to ask the reader to keep this in mind for the rest of the article, as I focus on the landscape of collectivizing in the Netherlands – with the awareness that it might look quite different in other parts of the world.

Verb 1: Resolve (conflicts)

As participants shared their origin stories of collaboration and collectivity throughout the event, words like friendship, fluid, organic, and ecosystem reoccurred. During a panel discussion with participants of Lumbung Practice – an educational program co-conducted by de Appel, Sandberg Institute, and Gudskul – panelists shared stories of conflicts spanning across authorship, finance, resource distribution, and disagreements of values within a collective. When conflicts were not addressed or handled with care, they eroded the bonds and trust among those involved. “Trust is the base for communication, delegation and dreaming together,” reflected panelist Alejandra Ortiz from Papaya Kuir.

What struck me was that, fundamentally, collaboration and collective work are relational spaces that require understanding and conflict resolution skills in order to thrive. In the workshop Future of Difference led by Yun Lee, one of the cases we discussed that led to conflict involved collaborative work being pressured by a production deadline. Many of us have experienced this: while we have prioritized and finished the project, we have not planned for time and space to take care of the relationships among the people involved. Such collaborations usually end up short-lived, if not bitter, because we sacrifice our relationships for the sake of the project.

As I continued with the exercises in the workshop along with the other participants, I started to feel a sense of opening and hope. Differences do not always need to result in conflict, and conflict can be generative when held skillfully. Can we start by discussing our different working styles (e.g. planning vs. being spontaneous)? Can we have honest check-ins with each other throughout the process? Can we identify our feelings without blaming each other? Can we revisit our larger goals and values?^[9] The skills and knowledge gleaned from this workshop could prove essential for collaborative and collective work.^[10]

Verb 2: Share (values)

To collaborate is not only to work together, but also to learn how to (self-)organize. As presenters talked about the initiatives and collectives they had formed, I noticed a common thread of shared values. Some collectives form out of solidarity, such as the student initiative gra.si.students4palestine at the Gerrit Rietveld Academie and Sandberg Institute.^[11] Some collectives are born from the need to share studio spaces, and grow into programs and support structures, such as Level Five, “an artist cooperative that supports artists in Brussels by providing artist studios, artistic development programs and advocacy for artists.”^[12] Some collectives come into existence as a group of artists try to find footing in their field, and later become formalized to receive structural funding, such as Instrument Inventors Initiative (iii) whose current core values include “cultural diversity” and “fair pay.”^[13]

Within all collectives, how their shared values are addressed, communicated, revisited and agreed upon determines the shape and longevity of their collective work. Collaborations without shared values risk becoming transactional, and collective work with misaligned values and unresolved conflicts is doomed to be unsustainable. In one example from Level Five, some members left the collective after an incident where different political views surfaced and clashed with their need for a studio space.

How, then, do we find ways to proactively discuss values? Part of Yun Lee’s workshop was an exercise on defining values, in which participants told each other in pairs what they were working on and their partner responded with only “why?” After five or so rounds of soul-searching, the urgency of the work and its fundamental value started to emerge. On a practical level, the panel from Lumbung Practice shared a few structures and strategies that have helped keep such discussions alive: anticipate that conflicts will be part of collective work and have regular check-ins to ensure good communication, do not gossip or complain behind the back of someone involved in a conflict, and, depending on the situation, have direct conversations one-on-one, as a group, or with an invited conflict-mediation facilitator where necessary.

When talking about tensions within the collective, Alejandra Ortiz from Papaya Kuir also commented: “so far, collective work means unpaid work for us. There’s been no time to relax and dream together. What we need is time, not money.” This brings up pertinent questions: How is collective work valued in the dominant system? What kind of outside-of-system thinking (and doing) does collective work call for? Throughout Collaboration Station, we discussed economies as a plural rather than a singular, and we found many ways to position ourselves in relation to the neoliberalism we encounter everyday.

Verb 3: Dream (alternatives)

“Even when we talk about art work in the field of art, there are a lot of general assumptions about it,” said Kuba Szreder, who presented on the second day.^[14] From the art academy to the government, there have always been assumptions about art as passion, and “at a societal level, art work is often seen as a privilege and not something that needs to be supported.”

Although passion and privilege have shaped much of the narrative of working in the arts, art and cultural workers increasingly disagree with such proclamations, including Szreder, who co-founded the “Centre for Plausible Economies” with his collaborator Kathrin Böhm.^[15] Using methods from feminist and post-capitalist economies, they have asked artists to map how they produce and relate, as well as to consider who is present in the ecosystem and logistical chains. Later that day, guided by Hackers and Designers, we mapped our own relationships with collaborators, institutions and resources. It was helpful to see such visualizations on paper, and be reminded that we live and exist in a network of relationships, not in silos of independence as the dominant system often makes us believe. With this reminder, we can look at our positions more clearly and start to dream up new and alternative ways of working together.

In the work session with Katie Ceekay, the artist started by presenting her current project of a politicized artistic coalition. Involving both artists and institutions, her project is led by questions such as: Which support systems are you/we currently missing? How can a creative coalition engage in structural resistance? Structural resistance to what? In this process, the people and institutions involved redefine the relationships among themselves, as well as building shared values and ways of practicing these values.^[16] Ceekay emphasized how her session at Collaboration Station didn’t aim to give definitive approaches (as a noun), but rather to focus on approaching (as a verb). Participants then chose from six themes – for example, time-banking, collective pay structure, resource sharing & commoning – and divided into groups to discuss specific scenarios.

I joined one of the groups on resource sharing & commoning. In our scenario, we were “a group of cultural Oibrí who have committed to a resource-sharing model where members share equipment, studio space, expertise, services, care, etc.” and we “plan to expand access to these resources to [the] broader community.”^[17] What I found remarkable was that, as soon as our group of six sat down, we embodied this fictional collective without having known each other beforehand. We talked about the equipment we owned in this collective. Someone started to draw the floorplan of the studio space, as another thought about protocols we could have as members of the collective. Guided by the questions in the prompt, we reflected on what value meant to us, what kind of communities we wanted to be involved with, and what our decision-making process would be… In just 30 minutes, we had worked and dreamed as a collective.

Verb 4: Engage (politically)

“On an everyday level, people create their own support structures as a way to exercise personal agency and find ways of coping,” said Szreder. However, if we want to have any discussion on minimum wage or collective bargaining power, he noted, “unionization is the only way to go.” On a panel on the third and last day, Peter van den Bunder represented Kunstenbond, the union of the creative and cultural sector in the Netherlands. As an example, he mentioned how Kunstenbond brings the interests of its members to the government and uses specific tactics when reaching out to decision-makers (e.g. the relevant minister) concerning fair wages and contracts.

In contrast to the approaching in Katie Ceekay’s work session, where no definitive strategies are desired, Kunstenbond aims for clear political outcomes. These two ways of working speak to the tension between dreaming and pragmatics: how do we navigate between exploring alternative options beyond the existing system and operating within the confines of laws, policies, governments, and institutions? While the former enables us to resist values we do not agree with, the latter has the potential to solve a dire need and reveal the current boundaries of possibilities. Once we understand how these processes interplay, we can make informed choices about our place in systemic change – whether we align with radicality or diplomacy – and how we would like to further engage.

On the last day, I attended the lobbying workshop je hebt meer macht dan je denkt (you have more power than you think) by Nanja van Rijsse from Lobby Lokaal. There we learned about the steps and practical considerations of citizen lobbying. As someone who did not grow up in the Netherlands and who only has limited voting rights, I found it extremely informative to get a sense of the policy-making cycles at the municipal level, especially considering that that’s where 60% of the cultural budget (cultuurgeld) is spent.^[18]

During the workshop we were asked to think of a specific request and practice an elevator pitch to the city councillor (wethouder). In this imaginary scenario, we had done the homework of picking the optimal timing and person, and our goal was to get our message across to a potential ally. I was impressed by how, in addition to activist tactics where the goal is to create visibility and public awareness, the work of lobbying can empower citizens with the focus on becoming part of a dialogue and, eventually, the political agenda. It was eye-opening to encounter a co-operative way of working with the government at a time when the portrayal of confrontation and retaliation dominates the daily news and social media. That said, such work would take much longer: months – if not a year – of research, planning and organizing teams.

It takes considerable (self-)education and effort to engage confidently with policy-making and legal processes. Besides unionizing and citizen lobbying, other topics on the last day of Collaboration Station included writing open letters and formalizing a collective as an association (vereniging). All are ways of collectivizing at a formal level to counter and change the system from within, which illuminate different (albeit perhaps slower and/or quieter) pathways of activism.

More verbs: unlearn, resist, foster…

After three days of conversation and exchange, the verbs under “collectivize” grew to a dozen. Collectivize: to create space among the group, to acknowledge differences, to set boundaries and expectations. Collectivize: to understand different needs, to iterate, strategize, approach. Collectivize: to unlearn and resist the individualism, fragmentation and competition that are detrimental to arts and culture. Framing collaboration from a relational point of view shifts the emphasis from production and competition towards solidarity-building. As art and cultural workers, we can use our agency to collaborate through trust and love, and to collectivize and become part of the policy-making process. And finally, however we approach collective work, we must not forget to dream.

This essay was written with support of Stichting DOEN. The text was proofread and translated to Dutch by Josje Hattink.

Footnotes

^[1] The “art world” here seems inevitably monolithic, gatekept by institutions – both in terms of funding and exhibition-making – and the art market. “But there are many art worlds!” I said to this artist. I’d like to refer to Andrea Fraser, who has articulated the subfields in the arts, which “include[s] the art-market subfield, the exhibition subfield, the academic subfield, a multitude of community-based subfields, and the field of cultural activism.” As I write this article, I see collaboration and collectivity happen across all these subfields, which I see are critiques of the art-market subfield. See Andrea Fraser, “The Field of Contemporary Art: A Diagram” by Andrea Fraser: https://www.e-flux.com/notes/634540/the-field-of-contemporary-art-a-diagram

^[2] See https://www.hackersanddesigners.nl/self-organized-alternative-economies.html

^[3] This is not to say there are no struggles or manifestations of the global polycrisis in the Netherlands. One need only look at the recent budget cuts to scientific research. However, I encourage the Dutch readers and other readers from the Global North to recognize the baseline of their “haves” which make advocacy and potential policy change possible.

^[4]  A “zelfstandige zonder personeel” or “self-employed person without employees”.

^[5] I have discussed this in depth in my previous article “Stop Calling Artists Entrepreneurs”: https://www.platformbk.nl/en/stop-calling-artists-entrepreneurs/

^[6] Another apt word that describes the underlying narratives of cultural entrepreneurship is “co-opetition”, in which “the incentive for getting involved in cooperative processes derives from the potential rewards for individuals or enterprises.” See The ABC of the projectariat: Living and working in a precarious art world, a book by Kuba Szreder.

^[7] See https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Myth_of_meritocracy

^[8] This is particularly the case when applying for a 5-year permit (as independent entrepreneurs, “zelfstandig ondernemers”). In 2024, the IND asks for a monthly profit of €1,613. To put this number into perspective, the average art and cultural worker’s income in the Netherlands was €729 a month in 2020 (see footnote 5). Even when adjusted for inflation, there is still a huge gap between these numbers. See https://ind.nl/en/required-amounts-income-requirements#application-for-a-residence-permit-as-a-self-employed-person

^[9] All these questions are paraphrased from the 2.5-hour workshop given by Yun Lee. The workshop was originally developed by Yun Lee and James Parnell from their experiences working together as curators of BARTALK. See https://www.bartalk.online

^[10] Another workshop, Active Listening led by Sekai Makoni, took place concurrently. In this workshop Makoni guided participants to reflect on the ways we listen, both individually and collectively. Even though I did not participate in the workshop, I practice active/deep listening in my daily life and would say that it is another foundational skill for collaborative and collective work.

^[11] See https://www.instagram.com/gra.si.students4palestine/

^[12] See https://levelfive.brussels/en/about

^[13] See https://instrumentinventors.org/about/mission/

^[14] Szreder is the author of The ABC of the projectariat. See footnote 6.

^[15] See https://www.communityeconomies.org/projects/centre-plausible-economies

^[16] From Ceekay’s presentation: “The intentions of this coalition, while as best as possible co-decided, will be centred on the overlapping needs of those who are interested in material such as censorship, ethics, legal rights of artists, art in the face of genocide, fascism, capitalism; artistic agency, political topics and education around them, care, intervention, activism, non-static community building, etc.” For more on this project, see https://www.katieceekay.com/#/land/

^[17] For the discussion, we received printed scenarios of a clear context and questions that Ceekay had prepared. From the print, “Oibrí: (Irish word): workers; pre-capitalist term, e.g. someone tending to the community”.

^[18] According to Lobby Lokaal’s presentation.