Together with Florian Malzacher (FM) and Milo Rau (MR), we––Nicole Haitzinger (NH), Gwendolin Lehnerer (GL) and River Lin (RL)––delve into the multifaceted topic of collective work in artistic and curatorial practices. In our conversation, we explore the trajectory of collectives in the art world and examine questions of hierarchy, responsibility, and aesthetic perspectives. We not only consider the historical emergence of such structures but also the practical challenges associated with them—both in theater and in curatorial practice. Against this background, we ask Florian Malzacher and Milo Rau: What does collective curating mean for you and your work, and to what extent can it break hierarchies or create new forms of empowerment and responsibility?

FM:  When I studied in Gießen in the 1990s, collectives were the order of the day. Solo directing was done by those we already considered hopelessly lost. It was the time of She She Pop, Showcase Beat Le Mot, Rimini Protokoll and many other artist collectives. In theory everybody was on stage – even the ones that run the lights. And that anyway everybody did everything without division of roles, from controlling the music to accounting. Of course, soon pragmatics kicked in, but the concept of collectivity was taken seriously. And yet, at least in my memory, we never really talked much about what this meant as a concept. It simply was practiced as a counter-model to the real (and sometimes) imagined hierarchies of the municipal theater and its ingenious, typically male, directors.

It came from the same impulse that we approached the idea of curating collectively. First with the student-run Diskurs-Festival in Gießen and later with the curator’s collective Unfriendly Takeover which I founded together with some friends in Frankfurt. Thinking back, I am actually surprised that we already called ourselves curators. Back then in 2000, it was completely unusual to use this term in the context of theatre. Again we just did so without much theoretical consideration, even though we would refer to Hans Ulrich Obrist sometimes. But generally it came just as naturally as we called ourselves a collective.

So I come from a practice where these ideas were already embedded. Later, in more professional contexts, such as steirischer herbst or the Impulse Festival, these collective approaches were replaced by models that had official hierarchies but still were very collaborative both within the institutional structures but also in the cooperation with artist. In projects where several different artists are involved the curator's role is of course not only a serving one but involves a lot of moderation. I understand it rather as a distribution of different roles and tasks than as a matter of hierarchies. During this time there was a also a strong discourse within net activism preferring the concept of collaboration (which does not need personal sympathy or even the same goals to work together) to collectivity.

Maybe coming from theatre ideas of collaboration and collectivity are anyway more obvious than in other art forms: Theater is always a collaborative or collective effort. The key question is maybe not only whether hierarchies exist, but how they function: What working methods prevail? What are the different roles and how do they complement one another?

MR: Your account of the emergence of the term "curator" also reminds me of the time when there were suddenly no more "program directors" or "dramaturges," but only "curators”. In essence, this meant a kind of disempowerment of the "brilliant artistic mind" and a structural shift toward programming. I never consciously pursued or reflected on this, because my approach has always been project-based. When I think about my first curatorial situation, it was more about thinking about other people's work: How do things fit together? What follows which piece? What is being produced where? Because our projects were spread out over the year, I never really thought of it as work. For us, it often worked like this: The curators would suggest something, and we would say: "Yeah, great, let's do it." There was no strict programmatic approach–just a diffuse need to, for example, "bring small productions to big stages" or "move away from municipal theater practices.

I think we have a similar way of thinking, but for me the liberation of the artistic was not primarily about breaking away from the "dictatorship of the director"––I think that is a very German debate. Rather, it was to break with the idea that a text had to be the basis of a play. When I left Germany, this concept disappeared for me, and it was a total liberation. Instead, the text became a means of documenting the rehearsal process–something that was collected, shortened and adapted every night. Now, with the Wiener Festwochen and the "Free Republic of Vienna," I am thinking for the first time about how an entire festival program can be aligned with collective needs; needs that arise from the city, the participating artists, and the curatorial team itself. For me, it is not important whether there are five or ten curators. What matters is the expertise: Everyone brings something different to the table. In our team there are people with specific knowledge of musical dramaturgy, outreach work, or specific cultural contexts. I, on the other hand, follow other developments and can contribute different perspectives. A key question for me is: How do we ensure that our program works both within the city and internationally? For example, we adopted the “Vienna Declaration” and formed working groups to clarify when the artistic advisory board comes into play, how much of the program is co-designed by the city, and which blind spots we need to address: Is the independent scene missing? The Arab world? Southeast Asia?

This confrontation with our own limitations is essential. Sociologically speaking, the "Gießen collectives" are a probable collective–with a limited scope. But when I talk to a curator from Ankara or the sister of Thomas Sankara about a play about revolution, I encounter a completely different curatorial aesthetic. Such encounters force you to question your own perspective: Am I ready to engage with a radically different taste?    

These are the exciting questions for me as a curator and artist. One has to create situations in which one is forced to step out of one's comfort zone–not out of stubbornness, but because one's upbringing and aesthetic conditioning suggest a certain perspective.

FM: I find that the question of criteria is very interesting. Such improbable collectives, as you call them, challenge one's own standards. They bring new perspectives into play that may become more important than the question of whether something is a “good” work or not.

For me “Truth is concrete”, a 7day non-stop marathon-camp in 2012 on artistic strategies in art and activism was the project where I really learned a lot about the productive (and at times exhausting) friction between curatorial ideas and a collective driven development. We invited more than 200 artists, activists and theorists from all over the world – and it was clear that this would create a field of agonistic tension. Spanning such a vast group of people and geography it was clear that the curatorial process had to be based on input from many other people. Certain regions or topics or practices or struggles were not known to us, we had to rely on others. Also there was not a single view on things, there had to be space for opposing positions. The curator Antonia Majaca once said, "curating does not mean endorsing.” I have always found that a very helpful idea: not having to identify with every position that is presented. Of course, this raises a lot of questions. But if one understands it–as Chantal Mouffe suggests–as an agonistic field, then this plurality and tension naturally becomes part of the process.

However, it comes down to two things: On the one hand, the loss of control–allowing things to happen that you cannot fully determine–and on the other hand, maintaining control, whether out of responsibility or to prevent everything from falling apart. This friction between letting go and intervening was essential to “Truth is Concrete” and part of the concept.

NH/GL/RL: At this point, we would like to follow up with a question for both of you: Florian, you spoke about the concept of collective curating, the associated loss of control, and the tension between allowing and intervening. To us, this sounds a lot like a theater of assembly, where different perspectives and positions are brought together. But we wonder: A theater of assembly does not necessarily require collective curating. And conversely, collective curating does not automatically mean that a true assembly forms. Would you agree with that?

FM: One could see collective curating itself as a form of assembly. The question is whether this assembly leads to further assemblies. Not every assembly is necessarily productive or leads to the desired results. An example that comes to mind is one of the most ambitious assembly projects that was also collectively curated but maybe had to fail: the Assembly of Assemblies which was initiated by Sibylle Peters and others about ten years ago. The idea was to bring together activist groups from all over the world and curate a collective assembly that took place in the theater space at Kampnagel. Of course, group processes are no guarantee of success. But the question that arises here is what collective assembling and curating means. Because if we look closely: there are not only very few curators collectives – like WHW from Croatia that will curate the next Skulptur Projekte in Münster – there are also very few real performance collectives.

When it comes to assemblies, I agree that the ideal is to introduce positions that are unfamiliar, complementary, and perhaps surprising. And such a curatorial assembly would need to be designed in a way that allows these different perspectives to emerge and be negotiated.

MR: Regarding these assemblies, I have always had the impression that, according to Chantal Mouffe, such a process is more like a field experiment––open and organized, whether thematically or through the confrontation of extreme positions. In these fields of tension that often arise in these trials or tribunals, the goal is to bring together completely different opinions and create a format that establishes certain rules and a structure. Such a format can be very effective, whether it's a tribunal, an interrogation, or a series of pleadings divided into minutes. Often the presence of judges and the need to tell the truth are part of these models. Over time, one develops a sense of what works for all participants and what is perceived as hubris or overreach by the organizers––what doesn't work. It is often difficult to determine how much antagonism a format can withstand.

One example was the General Assembly in Berlin, which included a representative of Erdogan's party and a Kurdish activist. The topic was the Armenian genocide, and the jury demanded its recognition. Of course, the AKP representative could not give this recognition, which led to a temporary halt of the project because it became impossible for both persons to remain in the same room.

Ironically, the President of the General Assembly, who came from a Herero community, then said that he would also leave if the AKP representative left–because Turkey was the only state that had recognized the German genocide against the Herero.

At that moment it became clear how difficult it is to negotiate such politics of memory in a European context––how they overlap and can completely change the dynamics of a format Interestingly, I have often noticed that likely collectives–those with similar goals and backgrounds–tend to be more conflictual. The conflicts often arise in areas that seem small at first, such as debates over identity politics. These conflicts are emotionally and morally charged, but not necessarily destructive in the traditional sense. Such conflicts often occur within probable collectives that share similar intentions. In improbable collectives, where extremely conflicting goals converge, it sometimes seems easier to reconcile these differences. One example is the Landless Movement, which consists of queer activists, farmers, and indigenous activists––a group with completely different positions but united by a common adversary.

I think the era of minimalists–collectives with clear, simplified structures–is coming to an end. Political realities are shifting, as seen in the election results, where suddenly it's just the AfD against everyone else. This shift means that collectives today tend to have a more defensive role, they need to come together to defend themselves against external threats. This became particularly clear to me when I recently watched the Elephant Roundtable after the German election. It was a strange experience to watch this political transformation.

Today, it feels as if the collectives increasingly must take on a defensive function–which changes the meaning and the dynamics of such gatherings.

NH/GL/RL: We would like to address another important dimension–the question of responsibility within collectives. Collectives always work in two directions: on the one hand, they offer protection and complicity, which can create a certain opacity. On the other hand, they involve coming together for a common goal or vision. Especially when it comes to collective decision-making, the question arises: who takes responsibility––both within the collective and externally? How have you experienced this question in your projects? And how do you manage this responsibility, especially in collaborative work processes? Are there clear structures or is responsibility often distributed in an unclear way?

FM: I would say that in most cases there is accountability, it might from the outside not easily recognizable, especially since it is differently organized in different groups. With five or six people, responsibility can usually be shared quite well. Within bigger collectives other structures have to be found and organized. In Western contexts, we traditionally think of responsibility as something that is assigned to a single person who makes the final decision or takes full responsibility. But that doesn't have to be the case. Responsibility can be distributed in a way that works for the collective. Especially in activist groups or collectively organized projects, it is crucial to act quickly when a decision needs to be made––a clear structure of responsibility becomes essential. The challenge often lies in the fact that collectives sometimes lack the experience to distribute responsibility efficiently, both internally and externally. In collective curatorial work in theater or other creative fields, there have been repeated attempts in the past to entrust collectives with specific tasks––sometimes successfully, sometimes not. Often the failure occurs because the collective lacks the necessary experience or has not yet sufficiently established its internal structures.

MR: Two thoughts on this: First, I think that moving from a lack of responsibility to a discussion about taking responsibility is like a muscle that can be trained––just like a movement. Going back to the landless movement, I was always impressed by how long discussions would go on. Then, at some point, the process would shift, and things would just get done––the decision that was collectively seen as the best would be implemented, even by those who had been outvoted. It's almost like a small democracy, except there's no opposition to constantly remind everyone that things went wrong. I think responsibility works like a muscle that you train, and as Florian mentioned, in theater you train it collectively through the work itself. It's about moving from openness to closure and back to openness. And that is something that can be accelerated and even harnessed, because in that openness there is an increased intelligence and an increased power.

Another observation I've made is that collectives don't operate in isolation; they usually operate within institutions. And often, within the overall structure of an institution, a collective is weaker than a single individual in a leadership position. Interestingly, collectives within larger institutions tend to be more hierarchical than a solo curator, precisely because they are weaker as a group. There are situations where three people agree with each other, and this can be used strategically to push through decisions. At the Wiener Festwochen, for example, I coordinate with my artistic team, and when we present our position to the broader assembly, there is little room for negotiation; it's essentially settled. I say this quite openly because this is how things can go in the worst case.

I think that's sometimes a reason why collectives exist––because individuals don't always feel strong enough to bear the stress and responsibility alone. It also has to do with personal disposition. If you're an intellectual, and not just an Elon Musk-type, but someone who needs discussion and dialog to figure things out in a small circle, then working collectively makes sense. But on the other hand, it can also reinforce the "armor" of a collective in leadership positions.

I mention this as a critical perspective because we have become accustomed to thinking of collective leadership as inherently better for institutions. And in many cases, this is certainly true, as it helps to dissolve traditional divisions of power.

I thought this is very relevant to collective processes, but you also often end up in places where no one intended to go–but somehow you end up there anyway. I've experienced that a lot in theater: moments where I think, “This is like a miracle. How did we get here?” Nobody planned for us to arrive at this solution in the morning, but by the evening it's the conclusion we've reached. That's the beauty of collectivization: the depersonalization and liberation of the individual will. This is the positive side of collectivity.

 FM: Milo, in your work, you repeatedly bring together impressive collectives, while at the same time being perceived as an individual––a central figure, even the “genius artist”. Your name is often synonymous with a network of collaborative processes. How do you navigate this dynamic and this contradiction?

 MR: I would say that my way of working is very text-based. My projects always start with texts that I either write or choose. Then we work on them together, and in the end, I put it all together. That is, in a way, my signature.

That is part of my approach: I take the final responsibility, even though many processes happen collectively. Collectivity means that everyone contributes something and takes something away. It is always about negotiation––about the exchange of values and recognition.

There are two sides to my work: on the one hand, a core team that I have worked with for years – dramaturges, set designers, cinematographers––because we need precise technical collaboration. On the other hand, there is a more flexible, dynamic side, like the way René Pollesch has worked, where different energies are quickly brought together. I don't always know exactly how that works, but it's a mix of ideology and pragmatic work that I still need to think about. But I have no ideological problem with it––it is more about my inner attitude. As a curator, I am constantly torn between different roles.

 FM: It's interesting that this conversation came up because I was supposed to write a text about collective curating. But every time I tried to put it into words, the text felt unsatisfying. I keep asking myself: What does it really mean to curate collectively or to make art collectively? Is that really the case, or is something else at play? I think the way curating and making art has changed, especially in terms of networks and collaboration. But is "collective" really the best word for it?

Florian Malzacher is a curator, writer, dramaturg and visiting professor for dramaturgy and curatorial practice at the University of Design & Arts in Karlsruhe. He is host of the online platform “The Art of Assembly”.

Milo Rau, born in 1977 in Bern, is the artistic director of the Wiener Festwochen, known for his works at the intersection of art and activism. He has received numerous international awards.