Recently, I stepped into the Hannah Traore Gallery, eager to experience the Guerrilla Girls’ Discrimi-NATION: Guerrilla Girls on Bias, Money, and Art exhibition. What I found wasn’t just a collection of art; it was a mirror—bold, unflinching, and painfully honest. As I walked through the space, soaking in the raw critique of institutional racism and sexism, I felt a storm of emotions: inspiration, pride, and—most profoundly—rage.
This exhibition, marking the Guerrilla Girls’ 40th anniversary, isn’t just a retrospective; it’s a reckoning. With their signature irreverence and truth-telling, the Guerrilla Girls remind us that art is more than a canvas—it’s a weapon, a voice, a demand for accountability. And yet, amid the brilliance of their work, the irony of my experience as a Black woman in that space became unavoidable.
The Show Must Go On (and Be Held Accountable)
Discrimi-NATION is, at its heart, a love letter to New York and a scathing critique of its art industry. The Guerrilla Girls, true to their ethos, pull no punches. Their work exposes the ongoing disparities and hypocrisies within the art world, holding up a spotlight to the industry’s self-congratulatory “progress” while its foundations remain riddled with inequality.
Hannah Traore Gallery’s boldness in hosting this exhibition deserves applause. As the first commercial gallery to collaborate with the Guerrilla Girls, Traore and her team exemplify what it means to expand the boundaries of inclusion and representation. They’ve created a space that isn’t afraid to confront institutional power or question who gets to tell the story.
But as I stood among the crowd—mostly white attendees consuming art that screamed against racism and sexism—I couldn’t ignore the palpable disconnect. I wasn’t just observing the art; I was living it. The shoving, the dismissive glances, the microaggressions. It was as if I had become part of the exhibit, an unwilling participant in the very commentary the Guerrilla Girls were making. The irony hit like a gut punch: here we were, in a space designed to challenge exclusion, while perpetuating it in real-time.
The Rage and the Hope
The rage I felt wasn’t just my own—it was inherited, shared, and collective. It’s the rage of artists and creators who have been overlooked, of marginalized voices silenced in rooms where their stories should have been amplified. And yet, amid that anger, there was also hope.
Hope in the Guerrilla Girls, who have spent 40 years refusing to be ignored. Hope in Hannah Traore Gallery, whose commitment to redefining what belongs in an exhibition setting is a testament to the power of taking risks. Hope in the new wave of artists and galleries indebted to the Guerrilla Girls’ work, carrying their boldness and irreverence into the next generation.
A Call for Action, Not Just Reflection
The art world loves to pat itself on the back for being progressive. But exhibitions like Discrimi-NATION remind us that reflection alone is not enough. Change demands action, accountability, and a willingness to confront our own biases—not just as institutions, but as individuals.
To the galleries: Keep championing the artists and stories that challenge norms. To the art lovers: Don’t just consume the work—internalize its message. And to those of us who have felt unseen in spaces like this: Keep pushing forward, because your presence is itself an act of resistance.
As the founder of Orm Muse Collective, I left the gallery reminded of why we do this work. Art is not just decoration; it’s disruption. It’s a demand for justice. And it’s a dream for a more inclusive, equitable future.
So, let’s honor the Guerrilla Girls’ legacy not just by celebrating their work but by taking the next step. Let’s create spaces where everyone belongs—not just in theory, but in practice.
With fire and determination,
Nina Founder & Creative Director
Orm Muse Collective
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