As exhibition cancellations mount and legal battles loom, the fight for artistic freedom in publicly funded spaces is entering a critical moment. Sam Falb reviews the growing tensions between artists and the institutions that claim to support them.
In an international Whatsapp group chat for South Asian artists last week, a buzz began circulating about the termination of an upcoming exhibition at the Art Museum of the Americas, the institution run by the Organization of American States (OAS).
Indo-Caribbean Canadian artist and curator Andil Gosine’s show Nature’s Wild with Andil Gosine had been cancelled by the museum earlier in the month, with little reason given to the curator upon notification. The timing was striking; on February 4, U.S. President Donald J. Trump issued an executive order directing the Secretary of State to review U.S. financial commitments to international organisations like the OAS, and by February 5, the OAS had taken action. The museum’s decision raised questions for the group chat — and in the first piece of coverage on this event by The Washington Post — about the broader implications of this observed policy shift.
After a deliberate six-year break from publicly sharing his work, this show was due to have been Gosine’s major return to the exhibition format, and included collaborations with artists Llanor Alleyne, Romy Ceppetelli, Bev Koski, Zachari Logan, Angie Quick, and Natalie Wood. In a conversation with Elephant, Gosine emphasised that the financial makeup of the exhibition had included zero U.S. funding, with support coming from a combination of awards and grants that he had won, as well as a commitment from the Canadian mission to cover opening costs, and World Pride agreeing to cover costs of the ongoing programme.
“One of the reasons I was drawn to the museum was that the Secretariat is supposed to represent the people of the Americas… it’s not based on the force of a private funder,” Gosine shared. The OAS is funded by each of its members, meaning that countries ranging from Argentina to Canada, and all states in between, are eligible for membership and funding contributions. What strikes a compelling tone about this decision is the U.S.’s outsized annual support of the organisation, which Gosine believes likely played a role in the decision.
“In this case, it seems that people are anticipating how they might appease a new political regime, rather than facing things when they happen, because there was no reason to cancel the show. No funding was pulled by the Trump administration — this was a decision made by the Secretariat,” Gosine explained. Per audit information, the U.S. is by far the largest donor to the OAS’s operations, with a $46 million gift in 2024 outpacing Canada, the next largest contribution, by almost four times.
In a more direct fashion, Cheryl D. Edwards, an artist and curator who had been slated to plan a survey of Black artists opening on March 21 at the museum, found the rug pulled out from under her show with direct removal of funding. This came after executive orders newly eliminated federal allocations for diversity initiatives in late January. She recounted the exchange with the museum to media: “I have been instructed to call you and tell you that the museum [show] is terminated,” Edwards said, recalling the message from museum director Adriana Ospina. “Nobody uses that word in art — terminated.”
The cancellation of these shows triggers a series of concerning follow-up questions which demand addressing by the administration, or by courts, in deciding future cases of artists challenging what may be seen as alleged censorship by government-supported institutions. Which set of circumstances creates a show poking the proverbial bear of government regulation? What exactly is referential to diversity and inclusion? In fact, what constitutes the absence of DEI? Perhaps this is the more concerning question, given the support — both public and subliminal — by Trump administration actors in the vein of white supremacy and Christian nationalism.
Just a ten minute drive from the Art Museum of the Americas, a similarly dour set of circumstances may play out in the next few months at the Kennedy Center. Neeraj Jain and his production team completed filming a segment for their documentary in October 2024, including among a variety of content areas, the residency by queer collective haus of bambi at The Reach, an outpost on Kennedy Center property which hosted the group for a limited, free residence programme under the organisation’s social impact-forward Office Hours Residency. The residency has a sturdy history of inviting BIPOC and queer artists through their doors, where studio space on the property would cost thousands of dollars otherwise.
Per obligations for shooting on Kennedy Center property, the organisation has the ability to forbid use of their name, as well as the ability to review any edits and provide adjustments before the work is publicly released. Both of these are lofty considerations, as the use of the Kennedy Center name adds a measure of prestige and aligned cultural affirmation to associated projects. Not to mention, editing considerations may influence the way a final project is communicated and received.
As questions mount over how these institutions should respond to government influence, the broader concern is clear: the future of public arts funding and visibility — and the ideological forces shaping it — hangs in precarious balance. For Gosine, Edwards, Jain’s team, and countless other artists facing similar challenges, the cancellations and restrictions signal more than administrative shake-ups; they underscore the fragility of cultural spaces that claim to champion diversity while remaining tethered to the shifting priorities of government patrons. With legal challenges looming and advocacy groups rallying for transparency, the coming months may set new precedents for artistic freedom in publicly funded spaces.
Written by Sam Falb.
