Observing the Quiet Choreographies of the Art World

The global art scene often appears as a vibrant tapestry of diverse voices and powerful narratives. Yet beneath the surface lies a more complex and sometimes contradictory reality. Particularly in South Asia and neighbouring regions, the dynamics of recognition, opportunity, and solidarity reveal patterns that are both subtle and profound. As an artist whose origins differ from the local context, I also observe how local politics and unspoken hierarchies shape inclusion and exclusion in ways that can feel deeply personal and complex. This reflection comes not from an outsider, but from someone moving within these spaces—quietly observing the choreography that shapes who rises, who remains unseen, and why.

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on some recurring patterns I’ve noticed within the art world, particularly here in South Asia and its neighbouring regions. These aren’t just distant observations — they come from navigating the very spaces where art is made, shown, and discussed, where relationships are formed and tested, and where the hopes for solidarity often meet the realities of competition.

Across many circles, a quiet choreography unfolds. Certain names rise steadily, often aligned with palatable forms of feminism, resistance, or identity politics. These narratives are easier to celebrate — neat, accessible, and institutionally safe. Meanwhile, other voices, whose practices might be more complex, challenging, or politically inconvenient, often remain at the margins, uninvited into the spotlight.

This dynamic is rarely just about merit or the quality of work. Recognition is shaped by curatorial decisions, institutional networks, and the subtle economies of access and influence. Proximity to money, power, and the "right" politics often opens doors faster than artistic innovation or originality.

Adding to this complexity is the layer of local politics, which can sometimes make navigating these spaces even more challenging for artists whose origins differ from the dominant or familiar narrative. The intersections of identity, belonging, and local affiliations influence not just visibility but also trust and opportunity in nuanced ways.

Beneath this surface, there is another layer — a less visible but deeply felt ecosystem of insecurity and competition. The lines between inspiration and appropriation blur as ideas are borrowed, echoed, or sometimes taken without acknowledgement. What may appear as gestures of support or camaraderie can sometimes be strategic moves aimed at visibility or advantage. Relationships are fragile and often tested by opportunity; friendships can shift or dissolve in the face of emerging chances or rivalries.

This is not an expression of bitterness, but a quiet recognition of a reality many artists face. These patterns are not new, nor are they unique to any one region or community. However, they become harder to ignore as the stakes rise and the terrain becomes more uneven.

The language of inclusion, solidarity, and shared struggle is powerful and necessary, but it can sometimes mask the complexities underneath. It raises important questions: solidarity with whom? And at what cost? Who gets to be included, and who remains on the periphery? Who benefits from the narratives we collectively uphold?

As artists, navigating this landscape means constantly negotiating these tensions. It means making choices about integrity, collaboration, and visibility in an environment where opportunity is often scarce and unevenly distributed. It means observing — quietly, honestly — the structures and behaviours that shape our field, even when it’s uncomfortable.

Perhaps the most radical act is not only to create but also to witness — to pay attention to what happens when no one is watching, to hold space for the invisible and unspoken. In doing so, we remind ourselves that art is not just about the works produced but about the relationships and systems that make those works possible.

Ultimately, this reflection is an invitation to look beyond the surface, to question the neat stories we tell about progress and inclusion, and to remain attentive to the complexities that define the world we inhabit as artists.