Even before the Trump administration started their attack on Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion programs, the Smithsonian Institution had been silently cleansing its halls of works reflecting diverse artists. This practice is not new; rather, it exemplifies a long, often unspoken history. American museums have always been political spaces that maintain systems of oppression. In an ongoing exhibition at the Smithsonian, Felix Gonzalez-Torres, a queer Cuban-born American artist, would have found his memorial to his partner, Ross Laycock, corrupted and deprived of its spirit. “‘Untitled’ (Portrait of Ross in L.A.)” is an ongoing art installation of a pile of candy that viewers are encouraged to take a piece of. The pile of candy is 175 pounds, representing Laycock’s healthy weight before he died of complications from AIDS in 1991. When one takes a piece of candy, they simultaneously participate in and observe the diminishing of the installation, recreating the degradation of Laycock leading up to his death from AIDS.
But, last October, the Smithsonian presented the exhibition titled “Felix Gonzalez-Torres: Always to Return.” As part of this exhibit, “‘Untitled’ (Portrait of Ross in L.A.),” is being shown until July 2025 as a long, relatively flat path of candy against the wall. The Smithsonian omitted Laycock’s name entirely from the label accompanying the installation. When displayed in a pile as usual, the installation obviously loses weight, and the pile loses its integrity and changes shape throughout its disappearance. The Smithsonian’s neat path and grossly censored label drains the work of its explicit and shocking degradation, stripping the work of its association with Laycock and the AIDS crisis.
The Smithsonian has an ethical obligation outlined by the American Alliance of Museums Code of Ethics for Museums to provide an informed experience and support its public trust responsibilities, crucially with funerary objects. Because “‘Untitled’ (Portrait of Ross in L.A.)” commemorates the passing of Laycock, and the pile of candy is a figurative rendition of his body, the installation arguably falls under this category. The code states: “The museum ensures that … collections in its custody support its mission and public trust responsibilities … [and that] the unique and special nature of human remains and funerary and sacred objects is recognized as the basis of all decisions concerning such collections.”
Many museums have legacies that perpetuate colonialism, white supremacy, and other institutions of power, all while existing under the guise of being nonpartisan. The Smithsonian’s current exhibition is an example of how these museums are filtered through the desires of a rich white audience. This misrepresentation of Gonzalez-Torres’ work started in 2017 when white gallery owners David Zwirner and Andrea Rosen acquired the Felix Gonzalez-Torres Foundation. The Smithsonian’s exhibit is an example of the efforts since then to erase the AIDS crisis and queerness from his work. A representative of the foundation responded to the criticism by assigning responsibility to the viewer to actively inform their own interpretation of the work. A memorial dedicated to a gay man who died from AIDS should never, in my opinion, be left up to interpretation. The continued misrepresentation and disrespect toward Gonzalez-Torres’ art is cruel and horrifically unsurprising.
Since the Trump administration started targeting DEI programs and began threatening art institutions across the country, the endangerment of arts and culture became clear — the Smithsonian’s practice of censorship has become institutionalized.
In 2001, the AAM commissioned research that found that nearly 90 percent of Americans considered museums the most trustworthy institutions by a large margin. Americans consider museums to be “fact-based, present[ing] real/authentic/original objects, and research oriented.” The report also found that people of color do not trust museums as much as white people do because they know that their histories are grossly misrepresented. Museums are safe spaces for white people. Most American museums are the colonial projects of white people who use their art trophies to affirm racist histories. Disturbingly, rich white people have always defined which art works, cultures, and histories are taught to Americans by the most trusted institutions in the country. In the wake of Trump’s recent policies, which strip museums of their progress toward decolonized narratives, it is impossible for museums to teach accurate representations of history, leaving them in constant violation of their “commitment of service to the public” described in the AAM Code of Ethics.
“I do not want to be outside the structure of power,” Gonzalez-Torres said in a 1994 interview. “I want to have power. … All the ideological apparatuses are … replicating themselves; because that’s the way the culture works. So if I function as a virus, an imposter, an infiltrator, I will always replicate myself together with those institutions. … It’s within those structures that change can and will take place.”
To obscure the purpose of the artwork is to rob it of all of its integrity. Every single piece of candy in “‘Untitled’ (Portrait of Ross in L.A.)” represents the pain Gonzalez-Torres and Laycock suffered during the AIDS crisis. When the Smithsonian, or any gallery for that matter, obscures Laycock from his own portrait, the work is no longer authentic; it is simply lifeless sugar and plastic, robbed of all meaning and spirit. The work becomes erased from itself. As American museums are sanitizing themselves of culture, it becomes increasingly vital for people to fight back and create change.
