Over the past few years, I have become obsessed with the idea of what an artistic space is. Where is art truly free? Why is it so often surrounded by rules, prices and social conventions? When we visit a museum or a gallery, we are not really making art, we are consuming it: paying for a ticket and observing strict rules about our behaviour. These spaces do not encourage people to make art themselves, and they are not a sufficient alternative to a shopping mall, because they follow the same logic. So should we bring art outside the museum?
A concept I found particularly useful in answering this question is Edward Soja’s notion of “Thirdspace”. For Soja, space is not simply a physical container, but it is also shaped by the meanings, stories and power relations we project onto it. A factory and a museum can occupy the same building, but they are entirely different spaces, because what defines them is not their walls but what happens inside them, and who gets to decide that. In Choosing the Margin as a Space of Radical Openness, a text often cited by Soja, bell hooks takes this idea further, arguing that spaces can be interrupted, appropriated and transformed through artistic and literary practice. From this perspective, space is never neutral: it is always a political choice.
Nowadays, the idea of repurposing spaces that previously served another function into something entirely different is widely popular. We see this frequently in the arts: exhibitions are now located in former factories, churches and various abandoned buildings. Not just public art, but curated shows in spaces far removed from official museums and galleries. What changes is what happens inside. However, many repurposed spaces are, in the end, simply expressions of gentrification. I am sure that everyone can think of a space in their city that has been gentrified: where the supposedly artistic venues are just upmarket places where a cocktail costs an unreasonable amount of money, and art is not even freely accessible, because, as in every museum, you pay to enter or to consume. I think, for instance, of NoLo, a neighbourhood in Milan that used to be home mostly to people on lower incomes, with accessible housing prices. Nowadays the area has become more expensive, with upmarket bars and restaurants moving in. The repurposing was never intended for the people already living there, nobody asked them what facilities they needed. It was designed to make the neighbourhood attractive to wealthier residents, creating more spaces to spend money in.
Yet there are spaces that genuinely aim to be free and creative, and I went looking for them and for what makes them special. The first is Ruigoord, located just outside the centre of Amsterdam, close to the port. Ruigoord existed for centuries as a farming village before being squatted by an artistic community in the 1960s; although living there is no longer possible, some artists still maintain their ateliers. Ruigoord also hosts festivals and is always open to the public. I believe it is what philosopher Hannah Arendt would call a “space of appearance”: a space defined by the act of collective creation, and one of the few places where art is truly free to exist. I was guided through Ruigoord by Roman, who grew up there, and he showed me the space and all the contradictions that come with it: in our conversation, he spoke about local politics, with different factions and differing opinions on how to manage the space, and about the extraordinary freedom given to children growing up there.
The second is OostWest, situated in Amersfoort’s industrial area. Like Ruigoord, OostWest houses creative studios for artists, but also hosts DJ sets, workshops and courses, a space that is always open for people to come in, which is precisely what I did when I visited. I had the chance to speak with Rob, one of its founders, and while he showed me around, both he and an artist working there explained the main strength of OostWest: that artists do not create in isolation, but can inspire one another and engage with the people who walk in. OostWest is not defined by its original purpose as a container for industry, but by what happens inside it. This brings us back to the concept of Thirdspace: its ontological meaning defines the role of OostWest far more than its material appearance.
The main value of both Ruigoord and OostWest is, without doubt, their sense of community. There, art is not isolated, displayed behind glass on white walls. Art lives through contact between people, not through consumerism and rules. Making art free, accessible and open to everyone is also a way of making the world more creative, encouraging people to make art themselves, as a tool of expression and freedom.
