We were lucky to catch up with Kalaija Mallery recently and have shared our conversation below.

Kalaija, looking forward to hearing all of your stories today. It’s always helpful to hear about times when someone’s had to take a risk – how did they think through the decision, why did they take the risk, and what ended up happening. We’d love to hear about a risk you’ve taken.

Taking risks– and having faith in process– has been the single most defining force in my career.

When I was an undergrad studying photography, I had only photographed women. When asked why, I realized that it was because I was afraid to photograph men. It felt too intimate, too personal, and was out of my comfort zone. This prompted me to photograph my first ever male model in a nude shoot (!!) and I was scared up until the moment we started working. After this experience, I realized that every time you do something that scares you and you survive it, you become a new person– a person who is no longer scared of that thing, a person who is braver than the thing you thought might not be possible.

In the arts, there aren’t many paths clearly delineated, the destinations seem so far away and intangible when starting out. In my earlier years, I let my faith guide me to taking opportunities that weren’t a perfect fit but did light the way. I took a risk when I left everyone I knew and everything I called home to come to a new city, 2000 miles away, for my first role as Gallery Manager at The Luminary. This role was immensely challenging, especially as the city went into lockdown from the pandemic less than a week after my arrival. It was a risk to stay through crisis, one that I am unsure I had any other reason to do other than my deep sense of faith that I was supposed to be here.

Now, as the leader of an organization in transition, I lead my team and our constituents in a manor of praxis: aka, we practice what we preach– which is transformative justice, slow conflict, showing up with vulnerability, and platforming artists that engage in discursive an innovative practices, engaging pressing issues of the moment. There is much risk in this work. Institutions have been built on elusive hierarchy, on power mongering, on clandestine funding practices for centuries. And the stakes are higher than ever: as a mid-sized arts non-profit in Missouri, we have had to be strategic for many years on how we execute our mission and communicate to our public(s).

As the new visionary of the organization who has inherited its mission and legacy, I am finding myself even more willing to take risks to push our impact as a Luminary, a leader of the field, further. Because I am an artist who is also now in charge of the institution, I am finding creative problem-solving and risk taking as a place of comfort in my work. Approaching challenges, like fundraising and development, with the faith that on the other side of risk there is transformation has allowed for me to find gaps that previously were not explored, and to create new systems that allow for a more equitable, accessible art space.

After my appointment to Director, one of the first small things we did was create this new sticker. It says “but we’ve always done it this way” with a cancel sign around it. Artists who lead institutions know that innovation doesn’t come from sticking with what is familiar. It is the leap into the void that leads us to a place of endless possibility.

As always, we appreciate you sharing your insights and we’ve got a few more questions for you, but before we get to all of that can you take a minute to introduce yourself and give our readers some of your back background and context?

My name is Kalaija Mallery. I am an artist, arts administrator, curator, cultural producer, mentor, and self-described “art-person”. I moved to St. Louis from Portland, Oregon in 2020 to work at The Luminary. Before relocating, I started an independent art space in Portland called Third Room, and was a sous-chef at a woman-owned, farm-to-table restaurant.

As a conceptual artist and curator, I work with objects and ideas to create spaces of contemplation, curiosity, and introspection. Thematically, in the gallery, my work tends towards abstraction and poetics– I tend to prefer artworks and situations that ask questions and spur conversation.

My ongoing research explores the transformative and revolutionary possibilities of a “third place”, a term coined by sociologist Ray Oldenburg to describe places between work and home where regulars congregate—usually a space of collective commerce such as a cafe, barber shop, or bar. Third places support social (solidarity) economies, community cooperation, and perhaps most importantly, joy and respite from the trenches of capitalism.

I am always looking for the art-worlds’ third places; I believe creativity functions as a reason for gathering and community building, and I believe that art transforms those who create it. How can art-economies create space for true participation? What characteristics allow art centers to act as a bridge for artists and the communities they engage? In the spirit of these questions, I work within institutions to research their audiences and the barriers that may prevent folks from joining into the conversation, then collaboratively form strategies to shift where is needed.

At The Luminary, I work with a small team of other art-people to platform innovative art, thought, and action. Through an active roster of critically-acclaimed exhibitions, international residencies, and new performances, publications and gatherings, The Luminary becomes more than a gallery– we serve as a point of convergence for diverse publics in our region and far beyond. We cultivate thoughtful platforms for exchange, support forward-moving art and ideas, and attempt to model a more equitable and interconnected art world at all scales.

I am deeply interested in human connection: how people gather, why we separate, the ingredients necessary for creating healthy groups, the longing that comes from isolation. My work could not exist without social inquiry and participation (whether that is through collaborative making/process, or through introspective viewership). This funnels into my work with institutions; I am proud to be an artist working in leadership for this reason. Artists have a unique way of transforming themselves and each other through the process of making — if I can heighten this experience at any iteration, or perhaps help better translate the process to our audiences, I am happy.

How can we best help foster a strong, supportive environment for artists and creatives?

What do we need more than space and each other? Healthcare, for one– and more artist-led platforms and resources to sustain them. I believe a lot would change if philanthropic resources were distributed more evenly. Presently, we have legacy museums that’s gala event costs more to produce than our entire fiscal year operating budget. Considering “how many hands can my investment touch”, is a great start for benefactors wishing to enable lasting change for arts and creative industry.

Aside from physical resources, we need a better understanding of creativity as not some unending well that can just be tapped whenever is needed: artists’ labor is one of the heart, soul, mind, and body. It is an integrated position of existence that must be cared for and respected, and given space to nurture and time off to rest. As a note to artists and creatives: taking breaks, especially when time seems like the greatest scarcity, will pay off in the long run.

Have any books or other resources had a big impact on you?

Emergent Strategy by adrienne maree brown, Dare to Lead by Brene Brown,
All About Love by bell hooks

Contact Info:

• Website: theluminaryarts.com
• Instagram: @theluminaryarts / @kalaija.m
• Linkedin: www.linkedin.com/in/kalaija-mallery/

Image Credits
Images courtesy of: Alex Vanderheyden, Virginia Harold, Nyara Williams, INCA Press and The Luminary