Tamara Moyzes:
Hi Stephen, thank you for taking the time to meet with me. My first question is: How does the Center for Artistic Activism (C4AA) operate? Do you have a physical workspace? How do you typically meet, especially in the context of your latest voting project?
Center for Artistic Activism (C4AA)
The Center for Artistic Activism (C4AA) is dedicated to advancing the practice of artistic activism by empowering individuals to harness their creativity and cultural influence to drive social change. With over a decade of experience at the crossroads of creativity and justice, C4AA offers training, mentorship, fellowships, research, resources, and curricula to a diverse community of activists, artists, and organizations seeking to make a difference through the power of art and culture.
Stephen Duncombe:
What we do with the voting projects is work closely with local organizations, such as those in Cleveland and Georgia, and collaborate with local artists in those areas. Our goal is to create partnerships between the artists and the organizations. While some of the artists we work with may be nationally recognized, we prioritize working with local artists whenever possible, especially when we have the time to do it right. The reason for this is simple: the people who know the community best are those who are already on the ground.
As for how we bring everyone together, it’s an interesting dynamic. Given that the work is centered around voting, which is intrinsically tied to the country as a whole, it’s important that people connect and collaborate. The pandemic has really transformed how we meet and communicate. While the physical actions will happen on the ground, in the real world, much of the pre-planning and discussions are conducted virtually, often through Zoom.
For example, when we go to an area like Georgia, we’ll conduct in-person training with the local organization. We spend a few days working together, exploring the theories behind artistic activism, discussing its history, and brainstorming potential tactics. However, many of the follow-up meetings and collaborations typically take place virtually. This approach allows us to maintain connections and continue the work without always needing to meet face-to-face.
Tamara:
I have another question because I have an NGO and I am working on several initiatives. One of the things I do is help other NGOs with campaigns or sometimes I curate exhibitions where artists create new works on specific issues. These works often gain media attention, and through both social and traditional media, we’re able to draw attention to important topics.
I’m trying to find a balance between using campaigns to support causes that I believe in, and making sure these campaigns don’t turn into something too commercial or advertising-focused. I know in activist work, we often use advertising tactics because they’re effective and they reach a wide audience, but in some cases, it starts to feel more like we’re functioning as an advertising company rather than doing advocacy work. How do you navigate this?
Stephen:
We tend not to do that, but we do it every once in a while when we will actually produce the actions for an organization, we usually do it in conjunction with the organization; for example, we’re working with South African sex workers organizations really closely in designing. We know the parlance of advertising and did various creative actions, which in some ways wasn’t very different from advertising or a design firm. we don’t do much of that, though we may do more in the future.
Tamara:
I think the way you approached the issue with sex workers is interesting because it blends art performance with activism, rather than just advertising. I saw how you used numbering or statistics in your work to highlight their experiences—sort of like an artistic way of ‘advertising’ their reality. But at the same time, it can blur the lines. Often, these artistic actions start to take on the characteristics of real advertising, reaching a large audience. And then, many people begin to question: Is this still art, or is it just advertising? How do you navigate that shift?
Stephen:
The idea that art is somehow autonomous or independent is a relatively recent concept in history—something that emerged only in the late 19th century. Before that, art was almost always in service of something else, like the church or the gods, with the primary goal of appeasing higher powers. The notion that art exists solely for art’s sake is, in a way, a historical anomaly. For most of its 40,000-year history, art has always had a function—whether that’s to serve a religious purpose, communicate power, or influence society.
Tamara:
If we are discussing the practices of old powers versus new powers, we can mention Reverend Billy and his church, who fight capitalism by merging these practices.
Stephen:
There’s a lot of borrowing from advertising because, let’s face it, advertising is full of creative and brilliant people. The key difference, though, is that advertising is focused on selling products to maintain the status quo of capitalism. Artists, on the other hand, might use these techniques for different, more ethical purposes, aiming to drive social change rather than consumerism. The problem many artists face is that while they’re good at getting people to feel differently, they often stop short of pushing them to do anything differently. But true social change only happens when people take action.
In that sense, advertisers may get things done, but they’re doing it for the wrong reasons—manipulating people’s fears and insecurities to sell products. On the other hand, activist art aims to use similar techniques but for ethical purposes, pushing people to think, feel, and act in ways that challenge the system and encourage positive social transformation.
Tamara:
I’m from Prague, and as part of East Europe, we’ve only been living under capitalism for about thirty years. It’s still a relatively new experience for us, and it’s not the ‘real’ capitalism that some parts of the world have known for much longer. We’re still adjusting to it, and honestly, there’s a lot of fear surrounding it. This creates a very negative atmosphere, especially when it comes to activism in Eastern Europe. There’s a deep mistrust of advertising, capitalism, and the consumerist culture that comes with it.
Stephen:
I think this is true not only in Eastern Europe but also in the US. My question to everyone is: what exactly are we afraid of? If the fear is that capitalism reduces everything to a mere quantity, turning everything into a profit-driven commodity, then yes, that’s something to be afraid of. But if capitalism is about producing better goods or finding creative ways to communicate with people, then perhaps there are lessons we can learn from it.
In my previous life, I was a Marxist, and one of the things I admired about Marx was his complex relationship with capitalism. He both loved and hated it. Marx admired capitalism’s ability to produce vast quantities of goods, push forward technological progress, and even challenge outdated superstitions. In many ways, he saw it as an incredibly progressive system. But what Marx critiqued was that all that energy and creativity were ultimately funneled into benefiting only a small, wealthy elite.
So, my issue with capitalism isn’t necessarily the techniques it uses—it’s what those techniques are ultimately used for. It’s the direction in which that creativity and energy are channeled.
Tamara:
I’m glad to hear this response; I’ve been struggling with criticism from my colleagues about it. I have another question. In doing my research, I’ve come to feel that, in some ways, the suffragettes were among the first art activists, but they’re rarely framed that way. No one really points to the suffragette movement in those terms. It’s interesting because we always talk about the suffragettes as being incredibly creative activists, but I’ve never seen them discussed in the context of art activism in your work or in general. Why do you think that is?
Stephen:
If you look at our new book that was just released, The Art of Activism, there’s a whole section on the three waves of feminism, including the feminism of the suffragette movement. We also explore how different movements and their tactics evolved over time. In terms of artistic activism, we trace it back to various historical moments, depending on where we are in the world, sometimes going as far back to figures like Moses, Jesus, or the Prophet Muhammad. My next book, for example, is going to focus on the creative activism of Jesus.
The point we make is that all effective activism has been, in some sense, artistic activism. Even before the political systems we know today, people who were interested in imagining a different future or critiquing the present always employed creative methods. We see this long history of activism using artistic strategies, even before there was a formalized notion of politics.
Now, when we talk about art as we understand it today, it’s a bit more complicated. Who should be considered an ‘artist’ in this context? In my view, the first real recognition of the power of art to bring about social transformation came with the Soviet avant-garde. Artists like El Lissitzky, Varvara Stepanova, and Vladimir Tatlin, as well as filmmakers like Sergei Eisenstein, were among the first to consciously use art in a modernist sense—not just for beauty, but as a tool for social and political revolution. While the suffragettes certainly used performance in powerful ways, they weren’t necessarily thinking of it as art in the way we understand it today. The Soviet avant-garde, however, was deeply engaged in the idea that art could change society—and that’s where modern artistic activism truly began.
Tamara:
Claire Bishop points out the connection to futurism, but I have some reservations about that. I mean, while I appreciate aspects of futurism, there’s a clear fascist element to it that I find problematic.
Stephen:
Yes, what I was going to say, going back to Jesus for a moment, is that Jesus was certainly employing creative techniques, but so was the Roman Empire, which I think is a crucial point—artistic activism can be used for both progressive and regressive purposes. We often point out that the most effective socially engaged art for social transformation in the past century came from the Nazi party. They understood the power of style, spectacle, theater, and drama. The problem is that they used art to propagate a dangerous, harmful ideology.
Tamara:
So the crucial question is: Where does artistic activism cross the line? When does it become an ethical issue? For example, can we equate artistic activism with fascism? Where do we draw that line?
Stephen:
It’s a complex and critical question. This is why ethics and morality are so important in artistic activism—they provide the necessary framework for guiding action. Are we saying that activism is just a tool, something that can be used for anything? Just as it can be used for liberation, it can also be used for oppression, depending on how it’s applied. It’s all about the intentions behind it.
Tamara:
When President Trump lost the election in 2020, some of his far-right extremist supporters stormed the Capitol building in an attempt to overturn the results. From your perspective, could this be considered a form of art and activism?
Stephen:
It really comes down to how you define artistic activism. For me, artistic activism involves people using artistic techniques to drive social change. In that sense, you could even argue that Donald Trump functions like a performance artist. He is very self-conscious about how he presents himself, understanding the power of performance in shaping public perception. His actions are highly calculated, and there’s a certain artistry to how he manipulates media and spectacle.
Of course, some people might dismiss this as mere propaganda or just performance, but I think that’s a very limited and historically narrow view of what art is. To exclude these types of actions from artistic activism is to overlook the broader ways in which art and activism intersect.
The real boundary, in my view, is ethical. When we talk about artistic activism, we’re talking about using these techniques for a positive social purpose. The challenge comes when the same tools of performance and spectacle are used for destructive or harmful ideologies—like fascism or extremism. Even though the techniques might be the same, the intent and ethical framework behind them are fundamentally different. So, while the far-right may use similar methods to the left or other movements, the ethical purpose behind their actions is what ultimately defines whether they are engaging in activism or something far more dangerous.
Maybe we should think about it a little differently. It’s all art and activism—what really matters is the intent. This shift in thinking also lets us reconsider advertising in a new light. Advertising uses artistic strategies and techniques with the goal of encouraging you to buy products. On the other hand, activists use the same tools, but their goal is different: they want you to either support their cause, remain silent, or oppose the ‘other side.’ Left-wing artists and activists do something similar, but ideally, they advocate for social justice and a better society, as they define it.
This perspective moves us beyond the narrow question of whether something is ‘art and activism’ and instead makes us focus on the bigger question: Activism for what? Art for what purpose? It’s a way of thinking that resonates with Walter Benjamin’s ideas, where the focus isn’t just on the medium or the label, but on the political and ethical intentions driving the work.
Benjamin’s essay ‘The Author as Producer’ was incredibly influential for me because he makes a crucial distinction about art. He argues that while there can be art that deals with politics or left-wing issues, the problem with that approach is that it often misses the most important question: What is the political work the art is doing? This has always been a guiding principle for me, as it shifts the focus from just the content of the art to its impact.
For example, you could have an artist who believes their work is advancing social justice, but if they exhibit their art in an elitist institution and use their prestige to further their own career, the real impact of their art might actually reinforce elitism. Benjamin’s insight helps clarify this: the art may claim to be for social change, but its effect might be the opposite. This lens also frees you from thinking about activism in purely representational terms—activism doesn’t always have to be about direct representation. One of the most moving pieces of art I’ve experienced was James Turrell’s light sculptures. They weren’t overtly political, but they challenged how we understand context, and that itself can be a form of political work.
‘Artistic Activism featuring ‘Riding the Undocubus with “No Papers, No Fear,”
So, I always ask myself: What is the political work the artist is actually doing? Rather than just assuming that the artist’s intention or the content of the artwork is what matters, I look at its impact. This approach has been invaluable to me. Now, if we’re talking about art as activism, does that mean it’s not ‘new’ art, like Impressionism or other historical movements? Is it just a tool? I think it is, in a way. Art is a tool for change, and that’s how I’ve come to think about it. I’m fine with that, though it can be a struggle for some artists, especially those who view art as an autonomous, pure form of expression.
I agree, even in its claim to autonomy, art has historically worked as a tool. If you’re a cynic, you might say it was just a way for the bourgeoisie to imagine themselves as individuals. But if you’re more optimistic, you could say it’s a tool that allows us to step outside of society and look back at it from a critical perspective. The idea of ‘art for art’s sake’ is fascinating, but what people often forget is the historical context in which this idea emerged. These artists were rebelling against an industrialized society where everything had to serve a function. Even in its so-called ‘uselessness,’ art was serving a function: it was critiquing society.
That’s the real issue. I have little patience for the idea that art is purely autonomous or detached from its social context. I think it’s a historically shallow argument, and philosophically it doesn’t hold up. The more interesting question is: What is the art actually doing in the world? And if we’re being honest, I’m completely happy with art that isn’t overtly political. Most of the art on my walls isn’t political in the activist sense, but it still serves a function—it calms me, it makes me think, it reflects my relationship to the artist. Those are all valid functions.
Tamara:
I’d like to move to another topic. Do you engage with the concept of artistic freedom in your work? I recognize how crucial it is, and I’ve been particularly interested in researching its legal framework. From what I understand, after World War II, Germany was among the first countries to formally recognize artistic freedom. Since then, organizations like the UN and the European Union have examined how artistic freedom operates and how it relates to the status of the artist. How do you view this in relation to your work?
Stephen:
I think artistic freedom is one of the key factors that allows us to do much of this work. The artists and activists we collaborate with often operate in regions where activism is heavily restricted. China, for example, is a great case study. While the situation has shifted somewhat in recent years, about 5–10 years ago, China was actively positioning itself as the new global capital of art. What this allowed, however, was that activists could work alongside artists, using art as a way to carry out actions that would have been impossible under the banner of political protest.
We saw something similar in Russia, where we worked with many artists who were able to do things that were politically charged, but disguised as art. While the authorities might not have recognized it as ‘politics with a capital P,’ the audience understood the underlying message. In these repressive environments, art becomes an entry point, enabling political ideas to ‘fly under the radar.’
I can’t tell you how many times, while working in these countries, we’ve been stopped by the police and asked, ‘Is this a protest?’ And our response is always, ‘No, it’s an art piece. We’re artists from New York City, working with local artists here.’ And the police, often satisfied with this explanation, simply say ‘Okay,’ and leave.
– edited by Sylva Ficova.
Stephen Duncombe is a Professor of Media and Culture at NYU’s Gallatin School and Steinhardt School. He has authored or edited ten books, including Æffect: The Affect and Effect of Artistic Activism and The Art of Activism. Duncombe has written extensively on culture and politics, lectured globally, and debated at the Oxford Union. He created the open-access Open Utopia, co-created Actipedia.org, and developed the ÆffectApp for artistic activists.
Duncombe has received multiple teaching awards, including NYU’s Distinguished Teaching Award in 2020. A lifelong political activist, he co-founded a community advocacy group in Manhattan and worked with Reclaim the Streets. He is the co-founder and Research Director of the Center for Artistic Activism, supported by foundations like Open Society and Fulbright.
Tamara Moyzes is a politically committed artist, curator, researcher, and PhD candidate based in Prague, Czech Republic. She explores themes such as gender, racism, anti-Romani sentiments, the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, discrimination faced by ethnic minorities, issues of nationalism, religious conflicts, and Orientalism. Her work demonstrates a longstanding commitment to artistic activism. Moyzes believes in art as a form of protest and uses interdisciplinary research and community cooperation to highlight social issues.
Moyzes co-founded the Romane Kale Panthera / Romani Black Panthers group in 2012, blending political art and activism. In 2018, she established the Artivist Lab gallery as part of her PhD studies—a collaborative project with Prague City Hall and Charles University to address social and political issues. In 2022, she launched the Artist in Need residency program to support artists fleeing war and has supported five Ukrainian artists to date. In 2024, she co-founded the AVINDO/Future residency program with Ara Art to support Romani artists and other art professionals, aiming to integrate them into the mainstream art system while fostering critical reform.
