Holding Space   

Verb. The practice of creating a safe environment in which someone can share their experiences and feelings with someone who practices being present to listen and empathise.  

Noun. A room in which people are held to wait before a procedure, appointment or booking.  

At the AGBI we hear and use the phrase ‘holding space’ both as a verb and a noun, especially when an artist becomes ill. This expression can evoke warmth, sharing and comfort but it often also appears as part of the conversation we have with our applicants about the physical spaces in which people sit with their emotions that are often negative. The physical areas we occupy when awaiting an appointment with doctors or medical specialists to receive a diagnosis or test result can provoke anxiety, fear, or dread. Such spaces can feel cold and isolating in these moments and heighten the idea of the unknown. The practice of holding space as a verb is an important part of what AGBI staff and council members do and an action that can contribute to healing and supporting the mental and emotional health of our applicants.  

Holding Space recognises the work of Steve Johnson, Susie Thomson and Nicola Cox.  

Steve Johnson’s “psychological models” defy formal definition – neither drawing nor sculpture. These works are scaled down reproductions of real spaces - a hospital corridor, a GP surgery waiting area and a care home window; environments many of us have entered during periods of life that can turn our minds towards morbidity and mortality. The precision of detail in these works forces us to confront these spaces outside of their usual context, allowing us to feel emotions that we may walk away from as soon as we exit them in real life. Removing the floor and the ceilings, the space in which these works are hung is transformed as if the doctor’s office has been transported into the environment we inhabit as the viewer. Johnson paints his scenes monochromatically, using colours that add another layer of meaning and emotion. The GP waiting area stands against the gallery wall in a muted NHS blue, described by Johnson as “chilly,” whereas the care home is a “baby” pink, leaning our thoughts to what it means to become dependent again. Each piece coerces us to recall memories of our own from moments in these environments; times in our lives where our mind might turn to thoughts of the fragility of our bodies.  

In contrast to the starkness of Johnson’s work, Susie Thomson’s swirling woven baskets act as metaphors for the human body, vessels for the emotions that we hold within. Placed centrally in the exhibition space, these baskets offer visitors the opportunity to contemplate what it is that they might be holding for themselves. Small in stature, they can also be thought of as organs; the internal pieces of us that we are unable to see but that we each experience intimately in our daily lives. Our organs are so frequently taken for granted in times of health but become notable when we are present with them – when we hold space for our own bodies and allow ourselves to feel into each part of it. Sometimes these internal pieces of our bodies force us to listen; inflicting us with pain due to injury or disease. Sometimes, they respond to an emotion so convincingly that the physicality of it can be used to describe the emotion better than any formal name we might call it by. Terms like “gut wrenching” or “heart racing” the very physical bodily experiences that also describe emotional responses that each body, can relate to.   

Alongside the baskets, a table is set up, offering a unique chance to sit and share what we each hold emotionally. Serpent Table by Nicola Cox unites the theme of holding space as a metaphor for creating a safe space for listening and being heard. We invite the viewer to imagine sharing a cup of tea across this table, leaning in to listen over the serpents. The snake, a symbol of medicine, can create the antivenom to their own poison. These snakes are a reminder that as we sit in community, we each have the power to heal and harm, and the potential to be harmed and to be healed. Snakes are also associated with Asclepios the Greek God of medicine. Asclepios was known to possess benevolent properties and could cure with just a touch. At the AGBI we recognise that while this magical ability to heal is not possible, to sit with someone and to hold space for them in a time of need is one way that the staff and artists council lighten the burden for our applicants. Curated by Abbie Griffiths.