OUT OF THE BOX - Reilly Davidson

CH Reilly, when you think back to the beginning of your engagement with art, did writing or curating come first? And what initially drew you into that mode of thinking?

RD I have a degree in creative writing, so it’s always at the fore. When I was in high school, I imagined I’d be a fiction writer, which shifted in college as I took mostly nonfiction classes. Interning at Artbook and Artforum (and briefly working at the latter) redirected my focus toward art. I also grew up seeing whatever shows I could in Seattle, whether at the SAM, Henry, Frye, etc., so there were definitely early kernels. Moving to New York in my second year of college meant total access, and I spent most of my time outside of school seeing exhibitions.

CH Today, you move fluidly between writing and exhibition-making. What shifts internally when you move from the page to the space of an exhibition?

RD All of these strands are braided together. I keep a lot of notes when working with artists, whether from our conversations, my own research, or more general stray ideas. Once the details are confirmed, the essay tends to pour out quickly. Like most curators, hanging a show is the dream zone, real euphoria. Articulating schemes, solving problems.

CH Conversation appears central to your curatorial process. How do dialogues with artists shape not only individual projects, but your broader way of thinking?

RD The work is absolutely synergistic. Each show acts as an expander, a way to test ideas and see how they hold up once released into the world. Certain things resurface over time; some concepts and insights gather momentum, while others remain one-offs. Maintaining ongoing relationships with artists also brings a particular excitement, especially when following how their trajectories shift and develop across different projects.

CH Following that: what does a strong artist–curator relationship require? Is it intellectual alignment, emotional trust, productive friction, or something else?

RD There has to be a really open flow back and forth. It’s so boring to prescribe exact constraints to an artist. Curating is about filtering and, for me, offering malleable direction. I think of my work like bowling bumpers, there to guide the ball without forcing it down the lane.

CH You’ve worked across different cities and gallery contexts internationally. How do shifts in geography and institutional structure influence your curatorial decisions?

RD Shifting conditions so often has been incredible. Architecture determines a great deal when coordinating works in space. Referring to the contours of a city, its codes and particularities, can be productive while still maintaining a distinct language. Otherwise, you’re just drifting without leaving a mark of your own approach. I think about an audience, but it doesn’t really dictate what happens within the walls of the exhibition itself. There are ripples afterward, lessons learned, insights gained. You take all of that with you moving forward.

CH Your texts show a precise and attentive use of language. When writing for an exhibition, how do you decide whether to clarify, complicate, or deliberately leave space open?

RD It’s a bit of a mixed bag. Generally, I’m in favor of the latter, avoiding over-explanation and minding that gap between establishing guideposts and fully clarifying the thing. More than anything, I’m invested in connective tissue, creating a lazy river of associations.

CH As a younger curator building a practice within established art networks, what have been the most formative challenges or turning points in finding your voice?

RD Being flexible is important because you can’t really know your own direction without meandering a bit. I once heard that growing up is about closing more doors and narrowing your focus, learning what you’re not. I think this is partially true, but I’m still open to supposedly trashed proposals taking new shapes later on.

CH Looking beyond the immediate art sphere, who or what has most shaped your perspective? What influences you the most: certain artists and mentors, books, music, philosophy, everyday life? We would love to hear more about the environment you choose to be part of.

RD I walk two to three hours almost every day. I’m always listening to podcasts and audiobooks, or talking on the phone. I used to actually read a book while walking; maybe I’ll bring that back when it warms up a bit. Lately I’ve been reading a lot of fiction. I missed the boat on Mary Gaitskill, so I’m catching up now. Raymond Carver was an early influence, Kathy Acker, too. I gravitate toward really lucid writers. I don’t think everything needs to be mucked up with jargon or needlessly complicated. On the other hand, Marcia Tucker’s memoir has been a constant reference point. She’s the coolest. When I was in school, I went to the Electronic Arts Intermix screening room a lot. And I really miss MoviePass. I was seeing about five films a week. Over the past year, I’ve been listening to a lot of The Innocence Project and Stina Nordenstam, and more recently Rufus Wainwright. I also always recommend talking to strangers. I was at a party a few weeks ago, and this fabulous woman told me about a series of events she attends to meet rich men. Not necessarily my scene, but I appreciate the information. Everything feeds back into the work. Input is just as crucial as output.

CH You are currently preparing a two-part exhibition at Damien & The Love Guru in Brussels. What does structuring a project in two chapters allow you to test or rethink about exhibition-making?

RD These two shows have been such a pleasure to organize. I’ve been working very closely with Priya on the artist lists, works, and context. Collaboration in general isn’t always so smooth, but we have a real ease of dialogue. It’s been a ping-ponging of ideas. The two parts are independent of one another, but there are definitely links. Broadly speaking, the current show is largely about archived and remixed ephemera, while the next is about amalgams and logical approaches to making.

CH When you imagine the long-term arc of your practice, what kind of contribution would you like to make to contemporary curatorial discourse?

RD This question is so big. I’m somewhat against big, overarching end goals. The not-knowing is exciting to me. I’m just pursuing whims and seeing where they go.

CH In a cultural landscape that often prioritizes speed and visibility, what values do you consciously try to protect in your work?

RD I love my bed, my room, my TV. Splitting time between total engagement and total leisure is everything. Knowing when to tap in and when to tap out has been my M.O. so far. In terms of keeping everything in motion, it’s good to have things cooking in silence, or seeds ready to sow. My nightmare is nothingness, so I avoid it at all costs. Value-wise, I’ll return to something mentioned before: one should really figure out and preserve a working method, one that is fairly receptive to influence but coherent enough to withstand the noise.

CH Finally, for emerging curators navigating a competitive and fast-moving art world, what advice would you offer about building a sustainable and thoughtful practice?

RD No advice has been the best advice, for me. Just do your thing and be as polite as possible.