The Public Gets a Say — Or Does It?
Part 5 of the Vancouver Biennale Investigation
We've followed the money.
We've looked at the people.
We've examined the approval system.
We've looked at the art itself.
Now comes the question that may matter most to ordinary Vancouverites:
DO WE ACTUALLY GET A SAY?
The Vancouver Biennale puts art into places where people live, walk, cycle, work and play.
So what happens when the people who use those spaces don't like what's being installed?
Is there a meaningful way to object?
Does anyone listen?
And can public opinion actually change the outcome?
I started looking through the records.
And the answer is more complicated than I expected.
Public consultation is not new.
A 2009 Park Board document says public response was one of the considerations used in reviewing Biennale works, along with technical and risk analysis and artistic and aesthetic merit.
There were also specific public consultation processes around proposed long-term installations.
So this isn't some new idea I'm inventing.
The public has been part of this conversation before.
But what does that participation actually accomplish?
Let's look at A-maze-ing Laughter.
This is especially interesting because I personally find those giant laughing figures unsettling.
But Vancouver clearly has many people who absolutely adore them.
When the original temporary exhibition was coming to an end, the Vancouver Biennale wanted to keep A-maze-ing Laughter at Morton Park for another 20 years.
And the Biennale openly asked the public for help.
It said a civic engagement process was required and invited people to submit their opinions and feedback to the Park Board.
That's exactly what public participation should look like:
Here is the proposal.
Here is the location.
Here is what we want to do.
Tell us what you think.
The sculpture ultimately became a permanent part of Vancouver's public-art collection.
The Park Board accepted the long-term loan or donation in 2012.
And the Biennale says the Wilson family subsequently donated $1.5 million specifically so the sculpture could remain in Vancouver.
That's an extraordinary example of public art moving from temporary exhibition to permanent civic asset.
And here's the interesting part:
I don't like it.
Many other people apparently love it.
Both reactions can be true.
That's democracy in public art.
The point isn't that the majority should always win.
Art isn't a referendum.
If we required everyone to agree before installing anything, Vancouver would become incredibly boring.
But there should be a way for people to say:
“I object.”
And there should be a way for decision-makers to demonstrate:
“We heard you.”
The Biennale has actually asked people to campaign for art.
In 2009, the Biennale itself asked supporters to write to the Park Board in support of Michel Goulet's Echoes, a proposed permanent addition to Vancouver's public-art collection.
The Biennale told supporters that letters of public support would assist the Park Board in its decision.
That tells us something important.
Public opinion matters when the organization wants public support.
So I think it is perfectly reasonable to ask whether public opposition receives the same attention.
If people write:
“Please keep this artwork!”
What happens?
If people write:
“Please remove this artwork!”
What happens?
Are both positions counted?
Are both documented?
Are both presented to decision-makers?
Or does public consultation become more of a campaign for the outcome the organization already wants?
I don't know.
That's what we need to investigate.
And then there is The Proud Youth.
The City released an FOI file specifically concerning the Biennale's Proud Youth installation and the public-art process. The City's FOI index identifies the records as covering September 2020 through May 2021.
This is exactly the kind of document I want to examine.
Because instead of talking about public consultation in theory, we can ask:
What actually happened?
Who was contacted?
Who responded?
What concerns were raised?
What did City staff say?
What did the Biennale say?
What information was provided to the public?
And ultimately:
Who made the decision?
There's another clue in the 2017 Park Board agreement.
The Park Board approved a 12-year partnership with the Biennale for three temporary exhibitions of up to 15 artworks each.
The agreement gave the Biennale curatorial leadership and responsibility for installation, insurance, maintenance and de-installation, while Park Board staff handled technical and risk-management reviews. Sites were to be identified and agreed upon in advance.
The Park Board minutes show that commissioners heard from members of the public during consideration of that agreement. Several speakers supported it and praised the opportunity to bring world-class art to Vancouver. The discussion also included questions about how communities could retain artworks and whether Park Board should support some installation costs.
So there was public participation.
But here's the question I haven't answered yet:
How representative was it?
Six speakers?
Twenty?
Two hundred emails?
A petition?
An online survey?
A neighbourhood meeting?
And who was actually being consulted?
The people who already follow the Biennale?
The people who live beside the artwork?
Cyclists?
Families?
Teenagers?
People experiencing homelessness?
People with disabilities?
People who don't normally participate in arts consultations?
Those details matter.
Because “the public” isn't one person.
When an organization says:
“The public loves this artwork,”
I want to know:
Which public?
When someone says:
“There was public consultation,”
I want to know:
How many people participated?
When an artwork is controversial, I want to know:
What did the people who objected actually say?
And when a decision is made, I want to know:
What changed because of public feedback?
That's what meaningful consultation should tell us.
And there is a bigger issue here.
The Park Board adopted formal public-engagement standards intended to make consultation more meaningful, transparent and inclusive.
Those standards specifically discuss reaching beyond traditional methods and engaging underrepresented groups.
That is encouraging.
But it gives us an even better question:
Are those standards actually being applied to Biennale installations?
And if so:
How?
This is where my investigation is going next.
I don't want to assume that the Biennale ignores the public.
The documents show that it doesn't.
I don't want to assume that public consultation is meaningless.
Sometimes it clearly has been part of major decisions.
And I don't want to pretend that every controversial artwork should be removed.
That would defeat the purpose of public art.
But I do want transparency.
If the public is being asked for its opinion, show us what happened to that opinion.
Show us the numbers.
Show us the concerns.
Show us the responses.
Show us the decision.
And show us whether the people making the decision actually changed anything because of what they heard.
Because public consultation should not simply mean:
“We asked.”
It should mean:
“We listened.”
And if the answer is sometimes “No, we listened but decided differently,” that's okay too.
At least then the public knows how the decision was reached.
So here's the question for Part 5:
Does Vancouver have meaningful public participation in public art — or mostly an opportunity to comment after the important decisions have already been made?
I'm still investigating.
And now we're getting somewhere.
Part 6: WHAT SHOULD PUBLIC ART BE?
The final part will bring everything together:
The money.
The people.
The approvals.
The consultation.
The artworks.
And the public reaction.
Because I don't want the conclusion to be “get rid of weird art.”
I want the conclusion to be a much harder question:
What do we owe the public when we put art in public space?
And what does the public owe artists in return?
That conversation is worth having.
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