Tate Modern, Bankside, London, SE1 9TG AN OPEN LETTER TO THE TATE MODERN: ON ART AND ACCESS Jo Lawn Law16473842 1 DEAR TATE MODERN, I am writing to challenge issues of accessibility in your institution, which have directly impacted me: within your building, curation and institution as a whole. I have an invisible disability, which means that my disability is not instantly noticeable; in many ways I have privileges that other people with disabilities, chronic illness or ill health do not. However, it also means that I often have to come out as disabled (Titchkosky, 2001), in order to receive the access adjustments that I need, which is just one of the ways I have experienced problems at Tate Modern. I’m writing to you as I want you to be aware of the impact your institution has on disabled people and the positive changes you could facilitate in the arts in regard to access, if you were willing to make changes. This open letter is particularly written to the Tate Modern because of your large budget, how much building and renovation has taken place in recent years and how unsuccessful the accessibility is in many of these areas. I will also note that from here on out I will be referring to people who require access requirements as disabled. But not all identify this way as this is a loaded term, but I am using it for simplicity of speech (Atkinson, 2015). This is relevant to anyone neurotypical, with sensory impairments, with alternative mobility or who identifies as sick, chronically ill or crip. 2 ARCHITECTURE In this part of the letter I’m going to break down what disability is, how this relates to the built environment, the current laws in place and how they don’t do enough, all in relation to your inaccessible designs in the Tate Modern. According to the Equality Act 2010, disability is classified as having a “physical or mental impairment that has a ‘substantial’ and ‘long-term’ negative effect on your ability to do normal daily activities”. (GOV.UK, n.d.) “Substantial” here is defined as “more than minor or trivial” and “long-term” as 12 months or more. This is rarely a label that will be given to you by doctors or those around you, but from my experience, ‘disabled’ is a word that you begin to use for yourself to access the support you need, whether financial or in regard to accessibility. Many have argued that “Disability is a profoundly socio-spatial issue”. (Gleeson, 1996) This fits within my understanding of disability, as your “ability to do normal daily activities” is dependant largely on the environment with which you are doing them, as it is harder to do “day to day activities” in an inaccessible environment. The Social Model of Disability “frames disability as a social construct created by access barriers, rather than a medical ‘problem’”. This framing of disability (also referred to as dis/ableism) “provides a dynamic and positive model which … proposes constructive changes to remove barriers and increase access” whilst not making it the disabled person’s issue to resolve, but in this case it would be yours. (Shape Arts, 2019) Authors of Spatial Agency: other ways of doing architecture calls for architects to consider that “… every line on an architectural drawing should be sensed as the anticipation of a future social relationship, and not merely as a harbinger of aesthetics or as an instruction to contractor”. (Awan, Schneider and Till, 2011, pg 18) This is a critique of the idea that architecture is primarily an artform; it’s a reality which greatly impacts those navigating a space. The slope in the Turbine Hall of Tate Modern is an example of inaccessible architecture because of its steepness and not having level sections. “Many projects in the last twenty years … incorporate large ramps or sloping ground as an integral part of the architectural experience. In these cases, we might be tempted to argue that, because the bit of tilted ground is part of the architectural concept”. (Fitzsimons, 2016, pg 91) I find in the case of architecture as art and as experience, the argument of aesthetics means it doesn’t have to meet accessibility standards. Fitzsimons calls into question, “… what is being accessed and how is it ostensibly accessed?” (ibid.) Is the slope designed to help access the building, or is the slopes something to be accessed itself? In the case of the slope in the Turbine Hall in the Tate Modern, it is far too steep to comfortably go up in a wheelchair and going down it is more of a ramp than a slope. (Tate Modern AccessAble, 2019) However, there is very little commentary on this because to able- bodied people it is considered an architectural eccentricity, rather than being primarily about access. Although the ramp is arguably more accessible than stairs, it is dysfunctional to the people it intends to help and feels tokenistic. 3 Alt-Text: A view of the turbine Hall slope from the first floor. Image shows tall industrial style hall with the floor sloping upwards towards automatic doors. On the left- hand side there is an alternative to the slope: there are long short steps, which some people are sitting on, with an arm-rail against the wall. There are some groups of people in the hall standing on the slope. Although it is not an easily navigated space in a wheelchair, it does offer a challenge. I once went down this slope in a self-propelled wheelchair with no assistance. Many people that I whizzed past showed looks of shock and concern, clearly thinking that I had a carer who had accidentally let the wheelchair go. While I was able to go as fast as I liked, my friends had to walk down at a slower pace behind me. In the this case I was able to go far faster in the wheelchair, while those walking were disabled by the architecture. Looking at the Turbine hall from this perspective we can see “alternative accounts of spatiality through the phenomenology of the disabled body [which] offers new perspectives on architecture itself: on its simultaneous limits and possibilities…” (ibid, pg 89) However, I would argue that this does not act as an excuse for lazy designing. Just because disabled people find alternative ways of moving about the space, does not mean they should have to. Additionally, it’s important to remember that this slope is a problem for many other types of disabilities: those who can’t self-propel or if they can they may not have as much speed control, or those who are be fed via a g-tube and the steep/rapid decline could impact their stomach/digestion, those using walking sticks or crutches, or those who have balance issues (e.g. POTS/EDS) and may be made very dizzy by the rapid movement. Or even those with young carers/carers who are also disabled and may struggle to manoeuvre the wheelchair. This inaccessible slope results in a lack of access for many people, who then have to go further to find other entrances to the building. This kind of separation in access Garland-Thompson calls “eugenic world building”, which “is the ideology and set of practices that control who enters and participates in the shared public spaces of a democratic order.” (Garland-Thomson, 2011, pg 52). She argues that “Restrictive environments that segregate people with disabilities from one another and from the nondisabled”, such as separate routes for step free access, are a form of “eugenic 4 world building”. (ibid) This is clearly something Tate Modern’s design is guilty of by forcing some people to use separate entrances or lifts to move about the space. One way to combat the ableism in design is the alternative of “inclusive world building”. (ibid) This initiative “seeks to integrate people with disabilities into the public world by creating an accessible, barrier-free material environment” and by doing this, disability is framed as a “valued social diversity” (ibid). This perspective keeps disability in mind when beginning architectural designs from the very start, rather than as an afterthought. Here I am not just referring to architecture or spatial layout of an interior, but a fundamental design of the world, which doesn’t just affect how individuals can/can’t move through a space, but on a deeper level being welcoming to physical diversity. Designs that include us don’t just allow us access, but they show that disabled people are welcome and have been thought about, which is a feeling that Tate Modern is lacking in. These ideas are essential to inclusive design but aren’t covered in legal requirements for accessibility and are likely why Hayes Davidson, Herzog and de Meuron didn’t make more accessible architectural choices in the designing of your building. The writers of Beyond Compliance? Museums, Disability and the law weigh up the strengths and weaknesses of “legislation as a driver for change and the additional strategies that might be pursued to create truly accessible, inclusive and welcoming cultural organisations.” (Smith, Ginley and Goodwin, 2012, pg. 60) They argue that although legislation “constitutes a powerful driver for change”, it can also put too much focus on “what (minimum) changes are deemed necessary to meet legal requirements, rather than … a genuine concern for (and commitment to archiving) full equity of rights…” (ibid.) The Disability Discrimination Act (or the DDA) is a law created in the UK in 1995 where it became a legal requirement of a public space to be accessible to people with disabilities.