冷戰結束後，新自由主義的浪潮悄悄興起，那些充滿政治激情的藝術行動，逐漸被歷史的洪流所淹沒，甚至被紀念化或博物館化。 Avery Gordon 曾說，幽靈不是過去的殘影，而是當下仍在呼喚我們介入的政治存在。呼應展覽「往昔的騷動」以一種獨特的方式，透過檔案的佈局、脈絡的交錯和敘事的交融，建構出一種「不完整的美學」，轉化成為一個新的政治感知場域，鼓勵人們不僅作為旁觀者，而是記憶的參與者和詮釋者。
該篇文章2025.06.17刊載於典藏今藝術 This article was published in Artouch on June 17, 2025: https://artouch.com/art-views/content-181345.html
(English is below.)
二月，抵達荷蘭的阿姆斯特丹，我搭著輕軌穿梭於城市、步行於街道間，時常看見陽台上與窗櫺旁高掛著巴勒斯坦旗幟，或是隨處可見象徵反屠殺的西瓜貼紙。當我走至皇宮前的水壩廣場，總能聽見聲援巴勒斯坦的聲音在諾大的廣場回盪。
這些零星卻強而有力的聲音與行動，不斷地敲醒我那段於巴勒斯坦不敢輕易碰觸的記憶。猶記 2023 年 10 月 7 日（週六）戰爭爆發前，我曾在巴勒斯坦西岸經歷突如其來的催淚彈投擲事件。隨即，戰火無預警地展開。那天早晨，為猶太節日住棚節（סוכות，Sukkot）結束後的第一個安息日，警報聲與以色列鐵穹系統攔截飛彈的碰撞聲在住所附近響起，即使戰火蔓延，我的心依然深繫這片土地。
2017 年起，我往返巴勒斯坦，穿行於衝突與日常之間，在市集與餐桌駐足，與當地人以照片、塗鴉、建築、書信與紀念物，共同編織出一本本「記憶之書」，召喚著遺忘，傳遞情感，將那些無形的記憶繫於心上。如果說「回憶錄」是連結家國歷史與個人生命的橋樑，雖受限於特定的歷史與社會脈絡，卻流動著個人的真實記憶與情感。雖然這些故事難以代表整個民族的集體經驗，卻足以讓人窺見，在地緣政治與國際關係交錯下，微觀的個人記憶如何影響身份認同與國族想像。對我而言，也是一種重新觀看與理解歷史的方式，透過個人經驗與記憶的拼湊，試圖以另一種視角重構那片曾被遮蔽的真實。
自戰爭爆發以來，來自社群媒體、監獄、巴勒斯坦在地的書寫、創作、攝影、刺繡與食物等各式檔案，如雨後春筍般不斷湧現，拼湊出更貼近真實的歷史圖像，召喚那些被遺忘與忽視的聲音。正是在這波抵抗行動如潮湧般高漲之際，展覽「往昔的騷動」（Past Disquiet）也在荷蘭阿姆斯特丹的 Framer Framed 展出，回應這股記憶及歷史重構浪潮，提出當代最為迫切的提問。
某日，我懷著忐忑與期待前往展覽，心中反覆思索著：「那些被遺忘的記憶與聲音，會以何種形式被召喚回來？」展名「Past Disquiet」揭示著所欲展現的歷史向度與精神，「Past」訴說著那些被遺忘、被邊緣化的歷史；而「Disquiet」則意味著不安、騷動或未平息的情緒，深藏在記憶的深處，也指向這些歷史事件與藝術實踐所觸發的社會省思與政治批判。
展覽試圖回望1960至1980年間充滿政治張力的藝術行動，同時藉由檔案的重新編排與敘事，挖掘那些被歷史書寫所忽略的片段、被主流語境所排除的集體記憶，並構築出以藝術為抵抗媒介的跨地域行動網絡。展覽不只是回顧，更是一次次的提問：「策展如何成為一種歷史重構的行動？又如何在當代體制之中，挑戰對『可記憶』與『可展示』的權力規範與知識治理？」（註1）
因此，本文將從文化記憶、歷史書寫與策展敘事的角度出發，探討「往昔的騷動」如何在記憶的裂縫中翻找遺失的聲音，並於多重語境的對話之中建構出展覽的敘事錨點，促使人們重新思索歷史與現在的關係、沉默與發聲的界線，進而反思展覽作為行動的一種可能性，其對當代社會能產生的倫理與政治影響。
遺忘與重構之間：檔案型策展之記憶碎片的政治敘事
1960至1980年代，世界各地的藝術家積極投入反殖民、反獨裁、反帝國主義與反種族隔離運動中，藉由藝術展覽、檔案創建、影像行動，甚至是跨國網絡的建立，數場的政治抵抗浪潮激盪出一種「行動藝術史」。 因此，「往昔的騷動」策展人 Kristine Khouri 與 Rasha Salti 將合作的十多年研究，以「檔案型展覽」的概念，試圖召喚非官方歷史，重構那些被主流藝術體制和學術機構忽略的視角，提出對於過去歷史書寫與政治記憶的審視。（註2）
策展人不斷提問：「若檔案與政治意識在塑造集體記憶的過程中扮演關鍵角色，那麼，策展是否也能成為對抗歷史書寫壟斷的一種方法？」、「哪些記憶被選擇留下，哪些又被集體遺忘？」，這場以策展為場域的「反記憶」工程，不再僅僅是對過往的重現或重述，而是重新定義策展如何成為知識與政治介入的平台，對歷史敘事權的主動奪回，更像是一場重塑文化主體性再造能運動。
透過挑選檔案、敘事的編排，以及展示形式的操作，展覽試圖建構跳脫主流歷史觀點脈絡的記憶場域。除了展出大量的複製檔案、海報與口述訪談內容外，還有許多隱藏於時間縫隙「零星」、「非線性」與「看不見的」個人記憶及事件在展覽敘事中不斷閃現，彷彿訴說著未解的故事，藉由讓人們直接面對被遺忘的歷史片段與消逝的聲音，感受到歷史內部的緊張張力與不完整性。
如 Ariella Azoulay 曾經提到，檔案並非靜態的容器，而是政治實踐的起點，每位觀者，透過觀看與詮釋，參與歷史與記憶的再生，不再是那被動接受固定意義的對象。（註3）因此，展覽試圖召喚人們重新檢視藝術與記憶、展覽與權力之間那微妙而複雜的關係，透過打破時間的線性流動框架呈現方式，採取「節點式策展」的概念，敘事錯綜複雜圍繞著「運動—聲援—殘跡—失語—復現」，展出的每一份檔案不再是歷史的附屬品，而是獨立的記憶節點，彼此交織，形成了對抗敘事的互動網絡，邀請觀眾成為這場記憶重組的共同參與者，去理解那些被遺忘的聲音和故事。
然而，僅管內容吸引目光，我在展覽現場依舊感受到檔案型展覽帶來的挑戰，觀者往往被期待在龐大而碎片化的資料中自我建構敘事，卻常陷於無從著手的困境。此外，這類「小寫檔案」作為一種策展策略固然帶有對抗主流敘事，或是賦予邊緣記憶發聲空間的解放意圖，但當過於強調非線性與碎片化的敘事手法，也可能導致歷史脈絡與事件連結的流失，較難深化觀者的批判理解。因此，值得深思的是，在強調去中心與挖掘多元視角的同時，策展如何仍維持敘事的節奏與批判的細緻度？如何避免檔案僅成為素材的堆疊，失去政治穿透力與歷史張力？
而倘若稍微將展覽從「檔案型展覽」的框架中解放出來，轉而視其為一個開放的「觀看的實驗場域」，或許更能在那如根莖般蔓延的藝術史、時間節點與跨境記憶中，捕捉到等待被觀看、被回應、被重新理解甚至重新書寫的歷史縫隙。
延伸閱讀｜空間如何描摹社會，藝術史權的重新角力：「亞洲獨立藝術空間歷史與檔案」論壇節錄
策展行動：重構全球抵抗行動與歷史記憶碎片
而「往昔的騷動」展覽以藝術與政治抵抗為核心，透過重建「流亡博物館」（Museums in Solidarity）串聯國際抵抗行動，包含1978年黎巴嫩貝魯特的「巴勒斯坦國際藝術展」（International Art Exhibition for Palestine）、智利的「薩爾瓦多・阿葉德國際抵抗博物館」（The International Resistance Museum for Salvador Allende），聲援尼加拉瓜的拉美藝術博物館 （Museum of Latin American Art in Solidarity with Nicaragua），以及南非反種族隔離與反殖民藝術行動 （Art Contre/Against Apartheid） 。藉由交錯的敘事線，挖掘被歷史忽略的記憶與跨國連結。例如，1970年代，流亡的智利藝術家與各國藝術家發起的團體民主藝術家 （Artists for Democracy） 在歐洲策劃了「智利民主藝術節」（Arts Festival for Democracy in Chile）等多檔展覽，聲援智利民主及全球解放運動，其藝術行動也與巴勒斯坦等地的藝術行動產生共鳴。
展覽阿姆斯特丹的Framer Framed展出時，重新梳理了荷蘭在這場全球藝術抵抗運動中的角色。當時，如「荷蘭巴勒斯坦委員會」（ Nederlands Palestina Komitee，NPK）、「荷蘭智利委員會」（ Chili Komitee Nederland，CKN ）和「荷蘭反種族隔離運動」（ Anti-Apartheids Beweging Nederland，AABN） 等，成為歐洲與全球南方文化政治間的重要橋樑。直今，NPK 仍持續組織活動，為國際法與人權發聲以聲援巴勒斯坦。種種歷史事件也映照著藝術家與行動者在全球解放的浪潮中，編織出融合文化與政治的實踐，建立起跨國的合作網絡，正如 James Clifford 提及之「跨國文化形成」的動態（註4），藝術在抵抗中重構主體性，成為連結記憶的媒介，並在與政治議題的交織中，形成了超越冷戰意識型態的跨國連結。
猶記展覽敘事中，一位巴勒斯坦運動者的話語，彷彿利刃劃出記憶與地理認同的共通性，勾勒出跨國連結中的共享經驗：「巴勒斯坦是記憶的寶庫⋯⋯我在海法的童年，與家人共度的故事。巴勒斯坦不僅僅是一個地理區域。」這些記憶的碎片不再只是歷史殘骸，而成為當代行動主義的觸媒，挑戰著主流歷史敘事。
回望過去，曾在多次全球解放浪潮中活躍的文化機構、藝術行動與記憶場域，如今多被遺忘或邊緣化，這不禁讓人思考是否這不僅是自然的遺忘，而是無形之中存在著一種制度的選擇？是否知識體系中存在著結構性遺忘，或是權力導向的記憶選擇？ Pierre Nora 曾提及：「記憶的場所，本質上是政治性的。」（註5） 也如 Andreas Huyssen 所說的，文化記憶其實是一場權力的遊戲，涉及到誰有權記錄、又該如何記錄。（註6）這些被忽視的行動，促使人們重新定義記憶與歷史，將散落的記憶片段重新嵌入書寫之中，讓其在時間的洪流中不再遺忘。
這股抵抗實踐同時也回應了殖民遺緒和冷戰結構，試圖提出與西方現代性對抗的另類視角。透過「流亡博物館」策展概念，召喚那些在國家文化政策與主流記憶機制中被忽視的幽靈，揭露記憶去政治化與邊緣化的過程，提出對「歷史是穩定真實的總和」觀點的質疑與挑戰——歷史並非單純的國家事件或經典知識的線性重複，而是由微觀、親密且不斷辯證重返所組成。這樣的策展實踐似乎也回應著 Aleida Assmann 所提出的「文化記憶的政治操演」概念（註7），強調記憶從來都不是中立客觀，而是權力操作下的結果。
展覽也由此延伸至當代對於歷史正義議題，激起機構、體制與公共歷史之間政治討論，進一步探討藝術和記憶如何介入公共論述，改變知識的生產和文化資源的分配。對於當代文化機構而言，這無疑是一種深刻的自我檢視——面對日益保守的文化治理與資源再分配的困境，文化機構與其體制框架是否能去中心化？ 是否能在記憶政治的視角，重新思考檔案脈絡與敘事方式？
這場策展不僅是對實踐反思的抵抗形式，也述說著展覽不只是美學的載體，更是歷史實踐與政治介入的行動場域，轉化為一種推測性的書寫和想像，試圖述說著，我們無法還原歷史的全貌，但可以透過想像與召喚來回應過去，並重新與其對話。
延伸閱讀｜【「狂八〇」的延長賽】從「表演」到「表演檔案」，再到跨領域藝術史文件展——關於「狂八〇」的一些思考
召喚與對話：行動的再現
冷戰結束後，新自由主義的浪潮悄悄興起，那些充滿政治激情的藝術行動，逐漸被歷史的洪流所淹沒，甚至被紀念化或博物館化。社會學者 Avery Gordon 曾說，幽靈不是過去的殘影，而是當下仍在呼喚我們介入的政治存在。（註8）呼應展覽「往昔的騷動」以一種獨特的方式，透過檔案的佈局、脈絡的交錯和敘事的交融，建構出一種「不完整的美學」，轉化成為一個新的政治感知場域，鼓勵人們不僅作為旁觀者，而是記憶的參與者和詮釋者。
離開 Framer Framed 展場後，我對「往昔的騷動」展覽所發出的當代行動召喚有更深的體會。「我們如何記憶？ 為誰記憶？ 能否將那些被壓抑的聲音轉化為行動？ 」 「藝術，既是歷史的見證者，更是歷史的行動者。」 這種理念在當代社會中引起共鳴，例如在荷蘭支持巴勒斯坦的學生與社運組織，如ROSA Radical Organisation of Students in Amsterdam等，透過網路串連，發起刊物出版、工作坊、講座等抵抗運動。
這場策展行動的真正價值，或許在於它挖掘了那些被忽視的記憶與未竟的抵抗，挑戰既有體制，讓歷史殘片重新回到視野之中，提醒人們那些散落各處、零碎而未被納入主流敘事的活檔案，蘊含著抵抗潛能，倘若這些記憶與檔案只停留於歷史回顧的敘事框架中，便容易被去政治化的風險。如何讓檔案成為行動的觸媒，在當代條件下活化記憶，並將其轉化為介入現實的實踐工具，正是「往昔的騷動」試圖提出、並值得人們繼續思考的重要課題。
對於人們記憶的召喚，更是再度行動的呼喚。
The Cracks in Memory: The Exhibition Past Disquiet, Its Curatorial Actions, and Incomplete Histories
Originally published on Artouch (典藏今藝術) on June 17, 2025
After the Cold War ended, the tide of neoliberalism quietly rose, and those politically passionate artistic actions were gradually submerged by the currents of history — even memorialized or institutionalized into museums. As Avery Gordon once said, ghosts are not the remnants of the past but political presences that continue to call us to intervene in the present. In resonance with this, the exhibition Past Disquiet constructs, in a unique way — through the arrangement of archives, the interweaving of contexts, and the blending of narratives — an “aesthetics of incompleteness,” transforming into a new field of political perception that encourages people to act not merely as bystanders, but as participants and interpreters of memory.
In February, I arrived in Amsterdam, the Netherlands. Riding the tram through the city and walking its streets, I often spotted Palestinian flags hanging from balconies and window frames, along with watermelon stickers — a symbol of anti-massacre solidarity — appearing everywhere. When I walked to Dam Square in front of the Royal Palace, I could always hear voices of support for Palestine echoing across the vast plaza.
These scattered yet powerful voices and actions kept stirring memories I had not dared to revisit from my time in Palestine. I still remember that before the war broke out on Saturday, October 7, 2023, I had personally experienced a sudden tear gas attack in the West Bank. Then, without warning, the war began. That morning — the first Sabbath after the end of the Jewish holiday of Sukkot (סוכות) — the sound of sirens and the clashes of Israel’s Iron Dome intercepting missiles rang out near my accommodation. Even as the fires of war spread, my heart remained deeply tied to that land.
Since 2017, I have traveled back and forth to Palestine, moving between conflict and everyday life, lingering in markets and around dining tables, and co-creating with local people through photographs, graffiti, architecture, letters, and mementos — together weaving “books of memory” that summon what has been forgotten and carry emotions forward, tying those intangible memories to the heart. If a “memoir” is a bridge connecting national history with personal life — constrained by specific historical and social contexts, yet flowing with personal truth and emotion — then these stories, though unable to represent the collective experience of an entire people, are enough to reveal how micro-level personal memory shapes identity and national imagination under the entanglement of geopolitics and international relations. For me, it is also a way of re-seeing and re-understanding history: through the piecing together of personal experience and memory, an attempt to reconstruct from another angle the truths that were once obscured.
Since the war broke out, archives of all kinds — writings, artwork, photography, embroidery, and food — have emerged like mushrooms after rain, from social media, prisons, and Palestinian communities on the ground. They piece together a historical image closer to reality and summon the forgotten and neglected voices. It was precisely during this rising tide of resistance that the exhibition Past Disquiet opened at Framer Framed in Amsterdam, responding to this wave of memory and historical reconstruction with some of the most urgent questions of our time.
One day, with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation, I made my way to the exhibition, repeatedly asking myself: “In what form will those forgotten memories and voices be summoned back?” The title Past Disquiet reveals the historical dimension and spirit the show seeks to convey. “Past” speaks of histories that have been forgotten and marginalized, while “Disquiet” implies unease, agitation, and unresolved emotions that lie deep within memory — pointing also to the social reflection and political critique triggered by these historical events and artistic practices.
Between Forgetting and Reconstruction: The Political Narratives of Memory Fragments in Archival Curation
From the 1960s to the 1980s, artists around the world actively participated in anti-colonial, anti-dictatorial, anti-imperialist, and anti-apartheid movements, producing through art exhibitions, archive creation, visual activism, and the building of transnational networks what might be called an “art history of action.” Against this backdrop, Past Disquiet curators Kristine Khouri and Rasha Salti brought over a decade of collaborative research to bear through the concept of an “archival exhibition,” attempting to summon unofficial histories and reconstruct perspectives overlooked by mainstream art institutions and academic bodies — scrutinizing the historical writing and political memory of the past. (Note 1, Note 2)
The curators kept asking: “If archives and political consciousness play a key role in shaping collective memory, can curation itself become a method of resisting the monopoly on historical narrative?” and “Which memories are chosen to be preserved, and which are collectively forgotten?” This “counter-memory” project, staged through curation, is no longer merely a re-presentation or retelling of the past. Rather, it redefines how curation can become a platform for knowledge and political intervention — an active reclaiming of the authority over historical narrative, more akin to a movement for reshaping cultural subjectivity.
Through the selection of archives, the arrangement of narratives, and the operation of display formats, the exhibition attempts to construct a memory space that steps outside the frame of mainstream historical perspective. Beyond presenting a large number of reproduced archival documents, posters, and oral interview materials, the show is also filled with “sporadic,” “non-linear,” and “invisible” personal memories and events hidden in the crevices of time — flickering constantly through the exhibition’s narrative as if telling unresolved stories. By bringing people face to face with forgotten historical fragments and vanished voices, it conveys the internal tension and incompleteness within history.
As Ariella Azoulay has noted, archives are not static containers but starting points for political practice; each viewer, through the acts of looking and interpretation, participates in the regeneration of history and memory, no longer a passive recipient of fixed meaning. (Note 3) The exhibition therefore calls on people to re-examine the subtle and complex relationship between art and memory, between exhibition and power. Breaking away from the linear framework of time, it adopts the concept of “nodal curation,” with a narrative that intricately revolves around “movement — solidarity — remnants — voicelessness — re-emergence.” Each archival item on display is no longer an appendage to history but an independent node of memory, interwoven with others to form an interactive counter-narrative network, inviting audiences to become co-participants in this reassembling of memory — to understand those forgotten voices and stories.
Yet, for all its compelling content, I still felt the challenges inherent in archival exhibitions. Viewers are often expected to construct their own narratives from vast and fragmented materials, but frequently find themselves at a loss for where to begin. Moreover, while using such “lowercase archives” as a curatorial strategy carries an emancipatory intention — to challenge dominant narratives and grant marginalized memories a space to speak — overemphasizing non-linear and fragmented forms of narration can result in the loss of historical context and the severing of connections between events, making it harder to deepen the viewer’s critical understanding. It is worth reflecting, then: while stressing decentralization and unearthing diverse perspectives, how can curation still maintain the rhythm of narrative and the precision of critique? How can we prevent archives from becoming mere piles of material, stripped of their political penetration and historical tension?
And if we were to release the exhibition somewhat from the frame of “archival exhibition” and instead regard it as an open “experimental field of seeing,” we might better capture — in that rhizome-like sprawl of art history, temporal nodes, and transborder memory — the historical crevices waiting to be seen, responded to, re-understood, and even rewritten.
Curatorial Action: Reconstructing Global Resistance and the Fragments of Historical Memory
Past Disquiet places art and political resistance at its core, and through the reconstruction of the “Museums in Solidarity” concept, it reconnects international acts of resistance: the 1978 International Art Exhibition for Palestine in Beirut, Lebanon; the International Resistance Museum for Salvador Allende in Chile; the Museum of Latin American Art in Solidarity with Nicaragua; and the Art Contre/Against Apartheid movement in South Africa. Through interlocking narrative threads, the exhibition excavates memories and transnational connections overlooked by history. For example, in the 1970s, exiled Chilean artists and their international peers formed the group Artists for Democracy in Europe, organizing exhibitions such as the Arts Festival for Democracy in Chile to support Chilean democracy and global liberation movements — artistic actions that also resonated with those taking place in Palestine and elsewhere.
When shown at Framer Framed in Amsterdam, the exhibition also retraced the Netherlands’ role in this global artistic resistance movement. At the time, organizations such as the Nederlands Palestina Komitee (NPK), Chili Komitee Nederland (CKN), and Anti-Apartheids Beweging Nederland (AABN) served as vital bridges between Europe and the political cultures of the Global South. To this day, NPK continues to organize activities, advocating for international law and human rights in solidarity with Palestine. These historical events reflect how artists and activists, in the wave of global liberation, wove together cultural and political practice, building transnational networks of cooperation. As James Clifford noted in his concept of “transnational cultural formation” (Note 4), art reconstructs subjectivity through resistance, becoming a medium connecting memory — and in its entanglement with political issues, forming transnational connections that transcend Cold War ideology.
I still recall from the exhibition’s narrative the words of a Palestinian activist, which cut through the memory like a blade, tracing the commonality between memory and geographical identity, sketching the shared experience within transnational connection: “Palestine is a treasury of memory… My childhood in Haifa, stories shared with my family. Palestine is not merely a geographical region.” These fragments of memory are no longer mere historical debris — they have become catalysts for contemporary activism, challenging dominant historical narratives.
Looking back, the cultural institutions, artistic actions, and memory spaces that were once active in many waves of global liberation have today largely been forgotten or pushed to the margins. One cannot help but wonder: is this merely natural forgetting, or is there an invisible institutional process of selection at work? Does structural forgetting exist within knowledge systems, or is it memory shaped by the direction of power? As Pierre Nora once observed, “the sites of memory are, in essence, political.” (Note 5) And as Andreas Huyssen argued, cultural memory is in fact a game of power — one that involves who has the right to record and how the recording is done. (Note 6) These neglected actions compel people to redefine memory and history, re-embedding scattered fragments of memory into the written record so they are no longer lost to the currents of time.
This spirit of resistance also responds to the colonial legacy and Cold War structures, proposing an alternative perspective against Western modernity. Through the curatorial concept of the “Museum in Solidarity,” it summons the ghosts ignored by state cultural policy and mainstream mechanisms of memory — exposing the process by which memory is de-politicized and marginalized, and challenging the notion that “history is a stable, true sum of events.” History is not a linear repetition of national events or canonical knowledge; it is composed of micro, intimate, and endlessly dialectical returns. This curatorial practice seems to respond to Aleida Assmann’s concept of the “political performance of cultural memory” (Note 7), emphasizing that memory is never neutral or objective — it is always the product of the operation of power.
The exhibition extends this discussion into contemporary questions of historical justice, sparking political debate between institutions, systems, and public history, and further exploring how art and memory can intervene in public discourse and alter the production of knowledge and the distribution of cultural resources. For contemporary cultural institutions, this is undoubtedly a profound act of self-examination — in the face of increasingly conservative cultural governance and the difficult redistribution of resources, can cultural institutions and their structural frameworks decentralize? Can they, from the perspective of memory politics, rethink archival contexts and modes of narration?
This curatorial act is not only a form of resistance reflecting on practice; it also articulates that exhibitions are not merely aesthetic vehicles, but sites of historical practice and political intervention — transformed into a form of speculative writing and imagination, attempting to say: we cannot restore the full picture of history, but we can respond to the past through imagination and summoning, and re-enter into dialogue with it.
Summoning and Dialogue: The Re-presentation of Action
After the Cold War ended, the tide of neoliberalism quietly rose, and those politically passionate artistic actions were gradually submerged by the currents of history — even memorialized or institutionalized into museums. As sociologist Avery Gordon once said, ghosts are not the remnants of the past but political presences that continue to call us to intervene in the present. (Note 8) In resonance with this, Past Disquiet constructs, in a unique way — through the arrangement of archives, the interweaving of contexts, and the blending of narratives — an “aesthetics of incompleteness,” transforming into a new field of political perception that encourages people to act not merely as bystanders, but as participants and interpreters of memory.
After leaving Framer Framed, I came away with a deeper understanding of the contemporary call to action that Past Disquiet was making. “How do we remember? For whom do we remember? Can those suppressed voices be transformed into action?” “Art is not only a witness to history — it is an actor within it.” This conviction resonates in contemporary society, reflected in examples such as pro-Palestinian student and activist organizations in the Netherlands — like ROSA (Radical Organisation of Students in Amsterdam) — which connect through the internet to launch resistance initiatives including publications, workshops, and lectures.
The true value of this curatorial action perhaps lies in its excavation of ignored memories and unfinished resistance, its challenge to existing institutions, and its bringing of historical fragments back into view — reminding people that those scattered, fragmentary, active archives not yet incorporated into the mainstream narrative carry within them the potential for resistance. If these memories and archives remain confined to the narrative framework of historical retrospection, they risk being de-politicized. How to make archives into catalysts for action, to activate memory under contemporary conditions, and to transform it into a practical tool for intervening in reality — this is the essential question Past Disquiet raises, and one worth continuing to think about.
The summoning of people’s memories is, above all, a call to act again.
Notes
- Khouri, K., & Salti, R. (2015). Past Disquiet: Narratives and Ghosts from the International Art Exhibition for Palestine, 1978. MACBA.
- Enwezor, O. (2008). Archive Fever: Uses of the Document in Contemporary Art. New York: International Center of Photography.
- Azoulay, A. (2019). Potential History: Unlearning Imperialism. Verso.
- Clifford, J. (1997). Routes: Travel and Translation in the Late Twentieth Century. Harvard University Press.
- Nora, P. (1989). Between Memory and History: Les Lieux de Mémoire. Representations, 26, 7–24.
- Huyssen, A. (2003). Present Pasts: Urban Palimpsests and the Politics of Memory. Stanford University Press.
- Assmann, A. (2011). Cultural Memory and Western Civilization: Functions, Media, Archives. Cambridge University Press.
- Gordon, A. (2008). Ghostly Matters: Haunting and the Sociological Imagination. University of Minnesota Press.
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