Last weekend, I learned through a network of African filmmakers that the film selected by South Africa for the 2025 Academy Awards is Old Righteous Blues, and its director is a young woman named Muneera Sallies. The news got me very excited, because I had the honor of meeting her late mother, Zulfah Otto-Sallies, in 1999 in Cape Town, South Africa. I decided to find Muneera’s contact to tell her that not only did I know her mother, but that she held a special place in my heart for the great inspiration she gave me 25 years ago.

In January 1999, I traveled to South Africa for the first time as the co-leader of an off-campus studies program — Poetry, Performance, and the Politics of Identity in South Africa — with 17 students from Carleton and St. Olaf. It was an opportunity for us to listen to stories about the lives of diverse communities under Apartheid and after Apartheid; in short, to learn about the ways in which diverse identities were redeploying themselves on the landscape of a democratic and multiracial society. We wanted to understand also the role of the arts (traditional and modern music, as well as literature and film) in the long walk to freedom.

It is in that context that we met and listened to several artists of different genres and visited many places of memory across South Africa for a month. One of the artists with whom we spent time was Zulfah, a young and dynamic poet, playwright, and filmmaker from the Cape Malay community. This meeting was a turning point in my personal journey, because she turned me onto filmmaking. Hearing her speak about her commitment to give a voice to her “colored community” and its multiracial and multi-faith identities, I understood the important role that cinema could play both as a vehicle for social activism and for documenting history.

This dynamic woman did not limit her conversation with us to a lecture room; she also took our group to meet her community in Bo-Kaap (Cape Town Heights), an area reserved exclusively for the “colored” and Muslim community during Apartheid. During our exchanges with members of her family, we learned a lot about the epic legal battles waged by the owners of the cute little houses of Bo-Kaap against rich, white land developers who wanted to dislodge them from their historical roots.

Zulfah’s example inspired me to consider filmmaking as a possible outlet for my own passion for history and storytelling. What I was far from suspecting at that time, however, was that through Zulfah, South Africa — this land I was just beginning to discover — was asking me to devote 25 years of my professional career to it.

For the following 15 years after that visit in 1999, I made a trilogy of films about the country’s little-known history, the first of which, Oberlin-Inanda: The Life and Times of John L. Dube (2005, Special Mention from Association Ecrans, Fespaco), was to be included in the South Africa line-up of the 2006 Brasilia International Film Festival, alongside films like Tsotsi (Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film) and Beat the Drum (2005 Fespaco award-winning film about the AIDS crisis in South Africa). My film, the production of which required a deep engagement with communities in Inanda, KwaZulu-Natal, and other parts of South Africa and Swaziland, dealt with the then-little-known story of Reverend John Langalibalele Dube (1871–1946), the Booker T. Washington-inspired educationalist who founded the African National Congress (ANC) in 1912 and served as its first President General for one term, before Nelson Mandela was born.

Having managed to get Muneera’s phone contact, I surprised her with a call. I introduced myself and explained to her my profound gratitude to her late mother. I also congratulated her for her success on the path that her mother inspired me in 1999. It goes without saying that she was deeply moved.

I wish the best of luck to Muneera and her film on their road to the 2025 Oscars.

—Chérif Keïta, William H. Laird Professor of French and the Liberal Arts

• 2022 Jury Prize for Diaspora Documentary at the Premières Rencontres Cinématographiques de SYA (Burkina Faso) for Namballa Keïta: A Soldier and His Village (2020, medialabafrica.com)
• Author of Outcast to Ambassador: The Musical Odyssey of Salif Keïta and Massa Makan Diabaté: un griot mandingue à la rencontre de l’écriture

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“It’s been nice to really spread my wings here,” said Iyer, reflecting on the many activities he was able to be a part of while at Carleton. “Usually [when I visit colleges] it’s more of a drive-by situation — kinda like Jesse James!”

The pinnacle of Iyer’s visit was the performance by the Vijay Iyer Trio. Walking onto the stage in a crisp black suit with the audience’s rapt attention, Iyer’s first words were surprisingly casual: “Um, how’s it going?” The crowd’s response, a soft laughter, eased the formality of the moment, setting the tone for the show to come. The set design also lent itself to a more casual mood than Iyer’s credentials may have led one to expect. A drumset, upright bass, and piano were set up on a large rug placed in the middle of the stage, reminiscent more of a living room than the setting for a world-renowned piano player. This approachable atmosphere echoed observations made by the Washington Post when its reviewer wrote, “it’s a sound that isn’t trying to impress you so much as involve you.” 

On stage, Iyer described his bandmates Raghavan and Dutton as the “leading lights of their generation in music today.” The trio played both new and old material — some so new it had not yet been released at the time. Iyer included songs from his latest album Compassion, which was released on February 2. 

The music began with the shimmering sound of the drummer softly padding on the cymbals, to be joined a couple measures later by piano notes delicately trickling in. As the instruments musically intertwined, increasing in volume and speed, they created a lively and upbeat sound. At times, one of the players would slow down while the rest continued playing energetically, resulting in a full, balanced sound. Throughout the performance, the trio changed beats and tempos often, ranging across a variety of moods — from lively, energetic, and fast to heavy, focused, and dark.

The first moment of silence came almost an hour into the show at 8:23 p.m. to vigorous applause. “I apologize for not telling you that we don’t really stop,” said Iyer. Rather than playing each song separately, the trio enjoys finding “trap doors from one song to another” when they perform.

“We surprise ourselves and each other with these transitions,” said Iyer. According to him, this way of playing ensures that “every show is different.” 

Most songs were therefore separated not by silence but by a slowing down of the music. The transitions between songs could be heard through waves of intensity as the music would quiet down to just one note, but never truly stop. Even as applause arose from the audience in these quieter moments, Iyer kept playing, hitting one note and then the next, the music coming slowly but consistently, like water dripping from a tap. This lull in energy, if not sound, offered space for the audience to catch their breath. These slower moments were brief, always leading quickly to the music building back up into a rich cacophony of sounds, like embers rearing to flare up into a roaring flame once again.

The physical movements of each player were as much a part of the performance as the music they created. All the musicians incorporated a lot of upper body movement into their performance. Head bobs would grow to incorporate their entire body — torso, arms, and head moving with the rhythm of the music as the sounds got more intense. During particularly energetic moments, the bassist would curl around his instrument, arms encircling the bass, seemingly trying to get as close as possible — to be one with it. At slower parts, the bassist’s arms seemed heavy as he barely brought his hand up to strum the strings of his instrument before letting his arm flop back down. His body emoted the slowness and heaviness of the music being produced in that moment. 

Iyer could often be seen with his eyes closed, head thrown back and arms fully extended to reach the keys. The bassist would react similarly to his instrument during particularly spirited portions of the performance, drawing back as if in response to the intensity of the music his instrument was creating. The performers could clearly feel the music, and the audience could, too. Audience members, young and old, were nodding and bopping along, riding the waves of sound and emotion. 

In his closing, Iyer thanked the audience: “You were a great audience… We are listening to you, and you sounded great. We can hear you listening and it touches us. Until we meet again, take care of each other. Thank you and goodnight.”

Iyer’s visit was made possible by the Ward Lucas Lectureship in the Arts, which was established by the friends and family of Ward Lucas. Before his passing in 1961, Lucas forged a strong relationship with Carleton and served on the College’s Board of Trustees for over 20 years. The “generous endowment” in his name brings “outstanding makers to Carleton,” said Steve Richardson ’86, Puzak Family Director of the Arts, in his introduction of Iyer’s performance. A defining aspect of the lectureship is bringing artists who have actual practice in the medium, not scholars who have engaged with the medium by studying it academically. As such, the lectureship sponsors “only individuals who have distinguished themselves in the actual practice of the art about which they are to speak.”

The Lucas Lecture Series rotates annually between participating departments (music, dance, art and art history, theater, and cinema and media studies). In the past, the lectureship has sponsored the visit of filmmakers, poets, playwrights, dancers, composers, choreographers, authors, musicians, novelists, and dance companies to Carleton. This year, the guest was selected by the Department of Music in collaboration with the Office of the Director of the Arts.

McCartney, a self-described freelance musician and systems change advocate, was motivated to come back to Carleton in an effort to fill the gap in representation of full-time artists she experienced as a student. As a music student, McCartney “didn’t know anyone trying to pursue the full-time artist career I was interested in. I didn’t really know who to talk to.” Because of her own experience, McCartney was “inclined to open myself up to any student who might find me helpful. I want to be a resource in any way.”

As a recent grad, McCartney fostered connections she had forged with students still attending Carleton. In collaboration with those current students, McCartney created a plan to impart the knowledge from her real-world experiences to the community that had prepared her for her music career. This idea crystallized over a few months as McCartney worked with Grace Bassekle ’25 to coordinate and gauge interest in a songwriting workshop.

McCartney described her return as “a privilege and pleasure,” sharing how she felt honored to “get to come back to share something that has become my whole career.” At Carleton, McCartney had explored her interest in a music career by “working in different parts of music: performing shows at The Cave with my band, starting to write songs, and singing in the choir and chamber choir and kind of all over.” 

The music department was “really hopeful that I would listen to my gut and interests and go for it,” said McCartney. Describing the whole music department as “there to hold my hand,” McCartney highlighted Professor and Chair of Music Andy Flory in particular as an encouraging mentor during her time at Carleton. “He would come up after every concert and say, ‘You know you have to try to do this. You have to try. You have to do this,’” she recounted. Never pushed into something she wasn’t already interested in, McCartney explained that the faculty at Carleton who surrounded her formed a “core team of people trying to get me to give my dreams a shot.”

Since then, “all of those disparate paths of music have solidified in my core, my career as a singer-songwriter,” said McCartney. “Getting to come back to campus and share the way things have grown for me since I’ve left is very special.” 

McCartney found her return to be a very positive experience as she was “welcomed back with incredibly open arms.” Smiling as she spoke, McCartney admitted that she “could never have anticipated how good it would feel to come back here and just walk around.” She enjoyed the juxtaposition between “getting to be a student again” and “bringing back something new.”

“I want to do this again and again and again,” said McCartney. “I’ve been beaming.”

Despite graduating just three years prior, with an ever-changing student body at Carleton, the majority of people McCartney met were new to her. McCartney described the new students she met as “carrying such a beautiful, open spirit about them, especially in this world of songwriting that can be vulnerable and hard.” While containing new members, the student body still maintained the same remarkable energy that McCartney remembered — “I forget how special, zany, fun, wacky, and unique this school is.”

The songwriting workshop was conducted over two three-hour sessions on Thursday, January 25 and Friday, January 26, culminating in a share-out session on Saturday, January 27. Over a dozen students gathered in the KRLX studio to learn from McCartney. What began as a group with “no sense of shared community” became a place for vulnerability over a very short period of time. By Saturday, McCartney found herself in a room of “changed people.” There was power even in the simple act of bringing these songwriters together, as a community formed that equipped those present with “a support network amidst themselves… to continue developing new stuff over the coming years.” McCartney hopes this newly created community will “foster a stronger energy toward songwriting at Carleton.”

McCartney was heartened by how quickly students were able to “get through this cloud of shame of being a songwriter,” explaining that vulnerability throughout the writing process is an essential skill for a songwriter. Part of the process of excellent songwriting is writing bad songs, McCartney asserted: “Make bad stuff so you can start to make better stuff.” Illustrating this concept with a metaphor, McCartney said, “You need to let the tap run so you can let out the early bad stuff so you can eventually get to a place of clarity… it’s the only way to grow.” 

In her workshop, McCartney encouraged students to “let go of their expectations of what the right kind of song looks like and sounds like.” In the journey to creating something honest and truthful, McCartney stressed the importance of accessing one’s own ideas, “catching them as they come” and then “squeezing those [ideas] out into more full songs.” 

“The skill I was really trying to get them to hone in on was to listen to their gut and build a consistent practice that puts them in a good creative headspace,” said McCartney.

Other practices McCartney recommended students adopt included “learning how to hustle while you’re in college” and “internalizing the idea that no one is going to do it for you.” The theme of vulnerability came up again as she urged students to “learn how to put yourself out there. Do it in ways that feel comfortable, and then ways that feel like they are pushing you.” She assured aspiring musicians that “there are people out there who want to hear your music,” it’s just a matter of reaching the right audience. 

Following the share-out session, McCartney performed at The Cave just as she used to do as a student with her band, Small Boat. Reminiscing about her previous performances at The Cave, McCartney appreciated the opportunity to “bring back the skills I started sharpening at Carleton in a much more professional way.”

The unique venue of The Cave offered McCartney a more intimate atmosphere than she is used to when performing in New York. She considered herself lucky to get to perform for “these students who are amazing listeners,” particularly valuing how, in her experience, Carls are “willing to be mellow and present with whatever music is on stage.” 

Looking to the future, McCartney would “love to keep coming back” in any capacity to support aspiring musicians at Carleton. She shared how the songwriting workshop got “incredible feedback,” with many students expressing hopes for similar events in the future. For McCartney, her return to Carleton “feels like it could be the start of a recurring long-term pattern” of translating the freelance artist life to workshops and cultivating the songwriting community at Carleton.

Artist Talk

The artist talk took place on January 11 at 5 p.m. in the Weitz Cinema, and was followed by a gallery opening at 6 p.m. in the Perlman Teaching Museum. For this event, Sara Cluggish, director and curator for the Perlman, moderated a public conversation with the artists behind the show. The talk began with self-descriptions, explained as a valuable tool for accessibility and archival documentation. In their introduction, both artists directed the audience to “be in this space as comfortably as possible” and encouraging people to “sit on the floor if you want to.” During the talk, a few audience members took these words to heart as they found seating on the stairs or elsewhere. Shannon embodied the very practices they preached by knitting during the conversation “to stay grounded.” 

Cluggish opened the discussion with the question, “How did you start making work around themes of chronic illness and disabilities?” Shannon pointed to the many influences that had guided her on this artistic journey, specifically mentioning Ross Elfline, professor of art history at Carleton, as an impactful force in their career. Through dialogue with mentors and teachers, Shannon built on the themes of chronic illness and disabilities that “were always in my work, but in the past they were quite subtle.” Over time, these themes grew to become “louder” and “more direct” in Shannon’s work, to the point that they now “prioritize disabled audiences.”

For Benus, these themes became prominent through a serious medical event they experienced at 18 years old. They began to recognize their work as making space for “malfunctioning bodies,” connecting to the legacy left by many artists who made art about AIDS and HIV. “Artists build our own community and make that space,” said Benus. 

Cluggish then shifted the conversation to address the theme of relationality within the show, explaining that the show is a “conversation between Finnigan [Shannon] and Ezra [Benus] and others in their lives who hold them up and teach them.” The artists found that their “aligned inspiration” and “overlapping interest” combined to generate an effective creative process. 

“We share an approach to process, spirit of experimentation, understanding, and flexibility,” said Benus. “[This] allows projects to unfold as they need to.”

This creative relationship is displayed in the Kaemmer Family Gallery, a smaller room within the Perlman’s exhibit space, where the installation Hot Hang (Shannon and Benus, 2024) is exhibited. The installation has multiple benches with functional heating pads, a dining table with four chairs and four hot pads on the table arranged in front of each chair like a place setting, and a video providing text for a dialogue between Shannon and Benus that plays aloud within the space. The intensity of light changes over time, with orange light modulating in intensity to more yellow, then red. This room showcases the artists’ shared understanding and experience of using heating pads and treats heating pads as an “object,” “offering,” and “medium.”

Finally, Cluggish’s conversation with the artists turned to accessibility. Shannon defined accessibility as “what is needed for us to be together. It touches every part of our lives and culture.” Benus added that accessibility is a “living practice” which “changes” due to its “contextual nature.” 

Cluggish shared how “accessibility is a delicate balance in the museum world… Accessibility isn’t just one thing,” because different people need different, and sometimes conflicting, accommodations. For example, Cluggish offered, “lighting too bright will make it difficult for people with migraines or neurodivergent individuals. But make the lighting too dim, and older people, those who use glasses, and low-vision individuals will struggle.” In the museum industry, this is known as “accessibility clashing.”

“Pure access is not possible,” Cluggish concluded. “You can’t be all things to all people, but we can commit to this conversation and be open to feedback.”

For this exhibit, the artwork was hung lower than typical museum standards and the labels were printed at 18-point font. It was important to Cluggish that Shannon and Benus were not “turned into accessibility consultants,” but the artists did end up sharing much of their vast knowledge on accessibility for museums throughout the process. Cluggish hopes there is further conversation about accessibility at the Perlman “beyond this experiment.” Post-show commitments include alt text, captioning videos, and making accessibility notes tailored to each exhibit. “We also now know how to do [a touch tour], and can put one together in the future when wanted or needed,” Cluggish said.

Touch Tour

Esme Krohn ’24 and Lorelei Bogue ’25, event associates for the Perlman, have led a few touch tours of the exhibition now. Krohn, while having seen touch exhibits before, had never led one herself. Through this experience she learned how touch tours could benefit sighted people as well as people who are blind or low-vision. Touch tours are great for all guests to experience an exhibit in a new way. Bogue was “surprised by the accessible language” and “respectful terms,” gaining awareness of the importance in the way things are described. 

“For example,” Bogue said, “using low vision instead of visually impaired. The term impaired has negative connotations to something wrong, not working, or broken, which is not how you want to describe a human being.” 

This was a new experience not just for the student leaders, but for the museum itself, as this was the first time touch tours were being offered as a part of a Perlman exhibit. To prepare for their roles, Krohn and Bogue drew on a number of resources, including readings and looking at techniques implemented by other museums. 

Beginning with an access check where Cluggish, also present, encouraged guests to “interject if you would like me to talk slower or louder” and “do whatever is helpful for you to feel comfortable,” the team shared self-identifications at the start of the touch tour. These self-identifications incorporated both objective fact and personal anecdotes. Cluggish described herself as a white woman in her late 30s, going on to describe her outfit as well as a gold necklace “from her grandmother” that she “wears every day.” Krohn and Bogue followed with their own self-identifications, providing a visual description with brief historical backgrounds of some of the objects they were wearing. This was an interesting way to humanize the tour guides while also providing context for low-vision guests. 

Krohn introduced the tour group to the first art piece: Touch Me Tenderly (Benus, 2021). This piece is a two-by-four-foot rug made of acrylic, wool, and cotton on poly-cotton cloth. Krohn described the rug before prompting the audience to share what they noticed, encouraging everyone to gather around and touch the rug. As guests discussed their observations, their hands were constantly running through the scruffy material, grabbing on to the little patches sticking up or smoothing down plush areas. 

“This artwork is not precious about itself,” shared Cluggish as the conversation came to an end. “It’s not about keeping it pristine. The work will degrade over time, and that’s actually part of the piece.” This echoes sentiments expressed by Benus during the artist talk, when they shared how they value “art spaces which prioritize the experience as the precious thing and not the art as the precious thing.”

The group then moved on to Portable Mural #2 (Shannon, 2020). Made of chipboard and ink, guests could feel how the individual letters subtly stuck out from the wall on which they were affixed, “jumping out,” as Bogue, leading this portion of the tour, described. Guests also noted how the hand of the artist was evident in the jaggedly cut edges of each letter. By being able to touch the mural, they were able to feel the snips of the scissors as it went around, gaining a more personal perspective. 

“Portable Mural #2 is the first piece you see when you walk in and can be considered as the thesis statement of the show,” Cluggish said. “It is speaking very directly to a [college] audience. I hope it invites people in and serves as a call to action.”

Cluggish also provided insight into the thought process behind the placement of this piece.

“All the letters are independent of each other, they could’ve been placed all around the gallery,” said Cluggish. “But it’s placed this way so you can see it when you’re not in the gallery. It invites people in.” 

The next artwork on the tour was Do you want us here or not (Shannon, 2018), a bench with two sentences written on it: “This exhibit has asked me to stand for too long. Sit if you agree.” Using the international colors of disability, blue and white, this bench transforms sitting — often seen as a passive action — into an assertive message. Such a piece of art “demands to be in an exhibition. It doesn’t make sense in any other context,” explained the tour guide. 

Do you want us here or not was positioned to be in conversation with a piece of work by Benus, for the world eternal לעולם ועד (Benus, 2022). “A lot of times the sight line is prioritized over functionality for the sitter,” shared Cluggish, so those who choose to sit are left staring at nothing. Conversely, this bench was placed so the visual enjoyment of the sitter was prioritized and they could easily view for the world eternal. 

The tour ended with Hot Hang, the only piece specially curated for the Perlman and made by both Shannon and Benus. “Making something new with two artists is so much fun, and that work was made with our audiences in mind,” said Cluggish. As the tour group entered the room, Cluggish invited them to “sit or lie down, and turn on the heating pads. Feel free to get cozy.” 

The group was struck by how this installation “emphasizes community,” with the benches facing each other and the exhibit encouraging visitors to participate in a typically private activity — using a heating pad — with others. 

“I appreciate how the tour allowed me to play with what art makes us do,” said tour participant Ben More ’24. “Not just sit and stare, but touch. Art can involve any number of senses, not just sight.”

Academic Involvement

Involvement with the Perlman exhibit was also facilitated through academics at Carleton, as students in ARTS 274: Printmaking – Silkscreen and Relief interacted with Hot Hang through a hands-on approach during Fall Term 2023. The idea for collaboration began with Cluggish, who approached Jade Hoyer ’07, assistant professor of art, with the possibility of her students engaging in silk screening for Shannon and Benus. 

Students contributed to the installation by working as printers, silk screening a design created by Shannon and Benus onto fabric used for the heating pads in the exhibit. They thereby built on the rich history of printmaking and the “tradition of artists working in collaboration with printmakers to assist in executing their vision,” explained Hoyer. This assignment allowed students to gain a hands-on understanding of “what it would mean to be a potential printing assistant, what it would mean to work with a client, and what it is like printing beyond works on paper.”

“We don’t make art in a vacuum,” Hoyer said. “We don’t do anything in a vacuum.” Applying that knowledge to her practice as a professor, Hoyer looks for “anything I can do as an instructor to solidify and demonstrate that art takes place across our campus — it isn’t limited to Boliou or the Weitz.”

Hoyer expanded the boundaries of her classroom through a Zoom conversation between her students and Shannon and Benus. “[They were] generous in sharing themselves,” said Hoyer. Through this Zoom call, students were able to learn not only about the artists’ vision for the project they were to contribute to, but also about their careers and artistic journeys as professional artists. This achieved another of Hoyer’s goals. 

“As the only printmaking professor [at Carleton], I feel very cognizant of the responsibilities of what it means to be conveying everything in my art field through the lens of ‘Jade [Hoyer]’ and what the limitations of that viewpoint may be,” said Hoyer. “Allowing students to have collaboration with other artists, directly or indirectly, can further broaden students’ viewpoints from the small slice of art that I’m sharing.”

The kindness of Shannon and Benus was emphasized by all who interacted with them.

“I felt they would be good at working with students,” said Cluggish. “That’s always an important consideration for me when choosing artists to exhibit their work at the Perlman.”

“These artists are making awesome work in their own rights,” added Hoyer, “but they are also navigating their artistic processes in a way that is conversant with the College’s broader values. [Shannon and Benus] were very welcoming and affirming. I have pursued lots of collaborations, and that generosity of spirit is not always present. It was a pleasure to work with those artists in that way. It is a testament to their skill and the broader facilitators at the Perlman to arrange for such a pleasant interaction.”

Not only an educator through his artwork, Turner is also the chair of the visual art department at the St. Paul Conservatory for Performing Artists as well as adjunct faculty at St. Cloud State University. Turner aims to offer a counter-narrative to the traditionally authoritarian and hierarchical educational system where, as he described it, “you sit down and shut up and you listen to your teacher.” Rather than a lecture, Turner believes education should be a dialogue where the role of the educator is to show “the moments where the past has illustrated the potential for a future reemergence or present reimaginings.” 

Turner’s educational philosophy closely aligns with the Perlman Teaching Museum’s mission as an educational facility that “emphasizes the role that art plays in posing questions about life.”

“We really just want students to know that [the Perlman is] a resource, that we have a collection and they can come and visit it,” said Sara Cluggish, director and curator in the Perlman Teaching Museum. “We want the museum to be a place where students can come, learn new things, and get excited.” Cluggish also shared that every artist adds to the broader educational goals of the Perlman, saying, “That’s the thing I like about working with artists: I always learn new things through their work.”

Choosing Turner

When considering Turner’s work for an exhibition at the Perlman, Cluggish valued not only Turner’s educational philosophy, but his research-driven approach to art as well. When reflecting on Turner’s creative process, Cluggish pointed to “the fact that the first step of [Turner’s] work is to go to a library or an archive to look at texts. There is so much research [behind] it… It seemed like [Turner’s] research-based practice was designed for the context of a college.” 

Familiar with Turner as a local artist in Minnesota, Cluggish saw one of his tapestries at the College of Art and Design and visited his studio to learn more. Upon selecting Turner as a partner for the Perlman museum, Cluggish facilitated a “contract of trust” between the Perlman and Turner. Cluggish described this process as talking with the artist about the ideas that the curator wants to come forward in the work, but ultimately leaving the artist responsible for making the work. This trust in the artist extended to the planning of the show by Perlman curatorial staff, who only worked with jpegs of Turner’s tapestries in their planning process. This kind of contract also meant that Turner’s work for the Perlman was almost all completely new; only two works in the main gallery were completed prior to the agreement.

While Cluggish began to plan for this show in 2023, Turner’s idea behind Pedagogy and Propaganda developed even before that, when a different curator visiting his studio asked him the simple question: “Do you know of histories of fascism in Minnesota?” 

Until that question, Turner’s work had explored fascism more broadly. This focus was prompted by earlier research and honed by experiences around the 2016 U.S. presidential election. Even before Donald Trump’s presidential campaign, though, Turner was grappling with how the writings of Martin Heidegger, a German philosopher, could inspire all kinds of humanists to speak out against injustice while Heidegger was also a member of the Nazi Party. When Trump was elected, Turner “couldn’t see his election as anything other than a symptom of broader fascism across American politics.” Turner viewed Trump’s rise to power as symptomatic of a broader fascist political system: “a structure that enables a fascist to come to power is also potentially guilty of being a fascist structure.” This conclusion sparked an intense desire within Turner to understand what fascism was more deeply, leading to an exhibition of artwork on this theme. The earlier question about fascism in Minnesota was based on this exhibition, and to answer, Turner began his six-year journey to the present investigating how fascism arose in Minnesota.

Research-driven art

Turner spent about two years “tracing and looking at how the legacy of fascism was embedded in Minnesota.” While focusing on Minnesota in particular, Turner viewed Minnesota as “a microcosm for the entirety of all of America at the time.” His work evolved to focus on strategies of resistance in response to the “aggressive fascist strategies” he saw ramping up throughout 2020 and 2021. Turner eventually shifted toward looking at antifascist history as a way of “offering new strategies for thinking about resistance in the present moment.” Stanford University’s Hoover Institute in California, as well as multiple resources located in Minnesota, served as a historical treasure trove from which Turner sourced material for his Perlman exhibition artwork.

The Hoover Institute contains archives pertaining to Leon Trotsky, the Socialist Workers Party, and various other people associated with them. In looking at the strategies of the antifascist resistance, Turner focused on the 1934 Teamster strike (to learn more about the strike, check out the resources on the Perlman Museum website). 

Many of the organizers who were part of the Teamster strike were also foundational in forming the Socialist Workers Party. Turner uncovered a connection between these individuals and Leon Trotsky through records of Minnesota-based labor organizers facilitating Trotsky’s exile as well as visiting him in Mexico as both guards and students throughout Trotsky’s entire time living there. In the summer of 1932, a number of the Teamster organizers went to Mexico to visit Trotsky and study organizing tactics for countering the rise of the Silver Shirts in Minnesota; Turner got the chance to see transcripts of these visits. 

“It was very much like reading the transcript of a seminar,” Turner said. “There would be times when Trotsky would give way to the knowledge that the organizers had about Minnesota or about their experience in the 1934 strike.” 

These “beautiful collaborative conversations” resulted in the creation of the Union Defense Guard in Minnesota, which led to the ousting of Silver Shirt organizing in the state in 1938. Reading through these accounts, Turner was struck by a “really incredible display of democratic organization against fascism, of people banding together in a nonviolent but militant way to dissuade and deter fascist organizing.” Those two moments—the 1934 Teamster strike and the 1938 ousting of the Silver Shirts—are the core narratives of Turner’s work in the Perlman.

Amidst all the potential avenues he could have gone down, Turner decided to focus on the Teamster strike as a moment encapsulating what democracy is all about. During the present time, which Turner considers a dark point for democracy, he looks to the past to “offer an alternative history and an alternative path forward.” For Turner, the 1934 Teamster strike shows what it looks like to disrupt the status quo of imperialism, violence, and exploitation.

“I believe inherently in democracy. I just think that we’ve lost touch with what democracy is in America—if we ever were in touch with it,” he said. “But to me, [the Teamster strike] was a moment of ‘this could be what real democracy looks like.’”  

Turner also drew upon the Minnesota Historical Society for Minnesota-specific information. The Minnesota Historical Society contains archives from the Jewish Anti-Defamation Council, later renamed the Jewish Community Relations Council, formed in 1938 in direct response to the rise of the Silver Shirts in Minnesota with the explicit intention of countering their rise. Turner shared how their records gave him “a really strong understanding of how it was not just labor unions fighting fascists, it was also the Jewish population in Minneapolis, banding together to democratically organize.”

“That’s how this show started to take shape,” Turner said. “It was through that research, through archival documents, and through understanding these narratives and asking questions about antifascism, resistance, democracy, and anti-imperialist engagement.”

Mythologizing history through the creative process

Turner draws parallels between his creative process of making physical art pieces and the process of mythologizing history. 

To make his tapestries for the Perlman, Turner took photos of select documents from historical archives and then digitally cut, cropped, and collaged them together, sometimes also adding digitally painted elements. Once that file is completed, he sends it to a textile mill to manufacture the tapestry. All of these steps enhance the feelings Turner aims to conjure through his work: “Everything that’s happening digitally is centered around that idea of trying to conjure the feeling of the mythology that runs through it.”

Turner considers the five hanging tapestries for the Perlman exhibition, collectively called A Pedagogical Task, to exemplify this process of mythologizing history through his creative process. For these works, Turner began with photographs of documents from the Hoover Institute. The first question he asked himself when starting off was, “Do I need to do anything to this document, or is it ready?” Sometimes the answer to this question was no. For the hanging tapestry depicting Diego Rivera and Leon Trotsky standing together, Brooks began with a negative of a photograph from a newspaper article about Leon Trotsky moving to Mexico and simply cropped it before having it manufactured. It was through the manufacturing of the tapestry that Turner’s artistic vision for the mythologizing of this moment was realized. 

“I used the process of the manufacturing of the tapestry to turn it into a positive,” Turner said. “The front side is the negative and the back side is the inverse of it because of how weaving works. It’s almost like the weaving process is developing the photograph. And all of the abstraction that occurs in how the image degrades and how the faces are lost becomes a metaphor for the distance between us and history… There’s this cyclical degradation, which is what time is. Through cyclical degradation, what remains is the myth behind it. And to me, that’s what feeling history is about. It’s not putting yourself in the moment. It’s feeling the myth that weaves moments together.”

Turner also values how the substrate of his work adds an additional layer of mythology. “The tapestry appealed to me because it already is the language of history, so it does some of that capturing of the myth of history,” he said.

Yet Turner also creates tension between the historical use of tapestries and his own work through the subjects he chooses to spotlight. Turner subverts the historical use of tapestries, which was typically by the ruling class to reinforce the hierarchy and mythology of their rule.

“I wanted to subvert the tradition of the tapestry and reappropriate it within narratives of people’s movements,” he said.

The massive size of Turner’s works further mythologize the historical moments depicted by them. The Battle for Deputies Run, for example, is a huge, two-paneled tapestry of photographs of the titular battle, which occurred as part of the 1934 Teamster strike. When creating that work, Turner “wanted the figures to be as big as me, if not bigger” in order to create “a scale relationship between my body and the bodies I’m depicting.” By doing so, Turner aimed to “make it easier to feel swept up into that, to feel like you’re walking into a scene or a diorama. It’s theatrical in that way.” 

By hanging his tapestries in the middle of the gallery, rather than against a wall, Turner wanted his audience to experience the tapestries as “pieces of paper pulled from the archive.” Even the works hung on walls were intentionally hung so they stick out about half a foot off the wall. With less support from the wall, the gravity weighs more heavily on the tapestries. Within this physical relationship between wall, tapestry, and gravity, Turner finds “a literal metaphor for the weight of history and the weight of justice and violence.” 

Turner wasn’t the only one paying attention to the minute details that went into arranging these tapestries in the Perlman. Teresa Lenzen, technical director for the Perlman, takes a lot of care considering everything from the lighting in the room to how high off the floor to hang the works. Cluggish, who works closely with Lenzen, shared how they “spent time in the galleries trying to figure out how far off the floor every single work should be, because Teresa was looking at how the shadows fell on the wall and how the works reflected in the concrete floors… There’s a real craft and skill set there.”

Turner’s favorite 

The tapestry that most illustrates the central issues of the show for Turner is Voters in Revolt. The flower border was inspired by the fifteenth century Unicorn Tapestries, which depict unicorns being hunted and murdered. The flowers have a dual purpose, as they at once “gesture toward histories of settler colonialism that originated in Europe and how those histories continue to play out and feed into fascism” as well as serve as a “kind of funerary offering.” The central image of the work is a photograph of the funeral procession for Henry Ness, the first of 67 strikers shot by police during the Teamster strike. Ness’ death was a pivotal moment for the strike as his peers responded with a powerful, nonviolent protest made up of 40,000 strikers marching in his funeral procession and 100,000 people lining the streets in support of it. 

Another important element of the tapestry is the red line drawing showing a violent confrontation between a striker and police superimposed upon the funeral procession and flowers. For Turner, this detail acknowledges that “defensive violence from the oppressed is sometimes a necessary form of resistance.” 

“I don’t want to advocate for violence or for nonviolence directly,” Turner explained. “Every situation has a different application, and that’s what I wanted to present.” 

Turner also noted the headline, “Voters in Revolt,” across the top, sourced from the Minneapolis Labor Review. The labeling of these protestors as “voters” was impactful to Turner because “ultimately, in a democracy, voters rule. If voters are in revolt, that says something about the government they live under. Maybe it’s not a democracy.”

An exhibition that takes time

Throughout his entire creative process, Turner continues to ask himself a question inspired by Ariella Aïsha Azoulay: “What does it mean to embody the language of the strike as an artist who needs to make money, wants to have work shown, and wants to bring this history and these ideas to people to generate conversation?” Turner answers this question first by defining a strike as “denying.”

“It’s someone denying capitalism, particularly authorities, from exploiting labor,” he said. “It’s denying someone the ability to profit off your labor.”

While art can so often be centered around sales, Turner also tries to combat this by recognizing that “consumerism requires speed” and introducing in response a “heavy exhibition, an exhibition that takes time.” With this method, Turner hopes to lessen the control of consumerism. 

“If I can slow you down, then maybe I’m denying the ability for consumerism to exploit an image, to exploit history, to exploit ideas and democracy,” he said.

The unique processes of research and artistry were intertwined in Pedagogy and Propaganda to create a rich show encompassing the multi-faceted artist Turner is.

“Really my first artistic love was writing. Sometimes I describe myself as a failed writer who makes art to cope with the failure of writing,” said Turner. “Now I’ve started to see that my role as an artist, as a writer and as an educator are all tangled together. And I think all of that is practically on display in the exhibition.”

“It’s not accidental that you all come from different places and have different backgrounds,” said President Alison Byerly in her opening remarks. “We want to create a community at Carleton in which a wide range of perspectives come together, knowing that you’ll all learn more from each other that way than if you all came from the same place or the same culture.”

Among the newest Carls, 40% identify as Black, Indigenous or a person of color, and 21% report two or more races. Class members come from 46 states and 24 countries. They have outstanding academic achievements in common, with multiple National Merit and National Hispanic Recognition Scholars and 75% graduating in the top 10% of their high school class.

“When I heard those kinds of statistics thirty years ago as a first-generation Carl, I slumped in my seat and wondered, ‘Did the admissions committee get it right?’” said Art D. Rodriguez ’96, vice president and dean of admissions and financial aid. “Anyone who finds themselves having similar doubts, know that you were admitted to Carleton because you reflect the qualities of a Carleton student. Your academic curiosity, intense desire to learn, motivation to go the extra mile, ability to work well with others and your commitment to being and doing your very best, made an impression on us.”

New to the stage this year was Michelle Mattson, provost and vice president for academic affairs and professor of German, who followed Rodriguez’ and Byerly’s remarks.

“My role as provost started on July 15, so I’ve appointed myself an official member of the Class of 2026,” she said. “Just like you, my fellow first years, I’m wondering if I will make friends, if I will succeed at the challenges of the work ahead of me, if I will be able to convince others that I care as deeply as they do about the Carleton community. As we settle into our new spaces here, let us promise to put aside our assumptions and be mindful of how the paths we have traveled shape who we become. I hope that through that, you will develop a sense of belonging and of close community while we are here together and beyond.”

The Class of 2026 also heard from Jancyn Appel ’23, president of the Carleton Student Association.

“Carleton truly is a collaborative environment,” she said. “‘Carls Help Carls’ is more than a catchy slogan. It’s someone helping you pick up the plate of food you dropped in LDC in front of everyone, pointing you to class when you’re lost on the Bald Spot, or finding a way to laugh and make some of your immediate hardships feel like simple points of growth… Remember, there’s nothing wrong with being wrong, but there is no greater wrong than always assuming you’re right. Welcome home—it’s always a great day to be a Knight!”

After welcome speeches, the new class of first years was introduced to another Carleton tradition: the New Student Week Frisbee toss. Byerly threw out her own Frisbee along with the class on the Bald Spot before the students said their goodbyes to parents and family.

“The end of your Carleton experience is a long way off,” said Byerly, “but I hope as you begin to form relationships here, you’ll recognize that those relationships don’t disappear the day you walk out the door. This college is not simply your school for four years, it’s your home for a lifetime, and it’s a community that we hope you’ll enjoy being part of forever. It is a tremendous honor and privilege to welcome you to this special community. We wish you a very good first week, first year and four years at Carleton.”

Erica Helgerud ’20 is the news and social media manager for Carleton College.

Speakers for the weekend included President Alison Byerly; President Emeritus Steven Poskanzer, who was president when the class of 2020 attended Carleton; Anesu Masakura ’20, who served as president for the Carleton Student Association (CSA) Senate as a student; and John Mullan ’20, who served as treasurer for the CSA Senate as a student.

For transcripts of the speeches and an archived live-stream of the celebration ceremony, visit the 2020 Celebration commencement website. For more photos, visit the summer celebration section of the class of 2020 website.

The class brings both academic and extracurricular strengths to campus. Among them, 69 percent graduated high school in the top 10 percent of their class, 31 are National Merit Scholars, and 13 are National Hispanic Recognition Scholars. Combined, the class speaks a total of 55 languages.

Along with their outstanding academic achievements, the Class of 2024 brings a variety of experience in extracurricular activities: 85 percent have dedicated their time to community service projects, 24 percent participated in an internship or research opportunity, 61 percent played varsity athletics, 44 percent have a background in music, 21 percent engaged in social activism, 38% were involved in STEM-related clubs or activities, and 48 percent had a paying job in high school.

The class is also geographically diverse, with students coming from ­45 states and 20 countries (8 percent are international residents). The state representing the most students is Minnesota (87), followed by California (54), Illinois (39), Texas (22), New York (19), Washington (19), Wisconsin (19), and Massachusetts (16).

Carleton met the full financial need of all students in the Class of 2024, including 284 students (62 percent of the class) who together are receiving more than $12.9 million in need-based Carleton grants. The average individual need-based grant award is $45,696, and the average need-based financial aid award is $55,159, which includes grants, scholarships, work study, and loans. The first day of classes for all Carleton students is Monday, September 14.