By Cecilia de Jong, The trade magazine The Visual Artist no. 1, 2026
There is something special about the moment when a new work of art is unveiled. There is talk, there is coffee, there is pride. And then there is what happens afterwards – or all too often doesn’t happen. Everyday life sets in. The users who never got a story. The artist who has moved on. And the council who is working on the next project.
My work at Middelfart Billedkunstråd and as a freelance art consultant has given me a close insight into the process behind the acquisition of art for public space. And it has given me a constant concern: We are good at intentions. Are we good enough for what comes after?
Before: What is our *why*?
Cecilia de Jong is a visual artist and member of the Visual Arts Council of Middelfart municipality.
In 2024, we worked on a kindergarten decoration for the Hyllehøj Children's Home, created by the visual artist Jesper Aabille. The work The Princess, the Toad and the Golden Globe (2024), is not chosen randomly, neither in terms of motif, material nor artist. We spent time in advance. We defined the needs of the kindergarten, we spoke with the staff, and we formulated a number of values that the artist should bring to the work: good relationship skills, the ability to communicate at a child's level, and an eye for ensuring that a work on a playground can last – not just aesthetically, but also practically.
These are the kinds of considerations we rarely talk about out loud. But they are crucial. Who are we actually making the artwork for? What is their reality? And what exactly do we imagine art to do – in the body, in everyday life, in the community?
The question of *why* is not an abstract question about the intrinsic value of art. It is a question of who will live with the work, and whether we have made enough effort to understand them before we decided. Intention is not enough in itself – it must be anchored in a real context if it is to bear fruit.
Ditte Lyngkær. Along the way, 2025. Photo: Ditte Lyngkær
Below: Co-ownership is not an add-on – it is the core
Ditte Lyngkær's decoration for St. Hans School in Odense, Along the Road (2025), is an example of what happens when involvement is taken seriously. Here there were workshops with school children and there was close and ongoing collaboration with the principal and teachers – not as a nice side project, but as an integrated part of the creative process itself.
It takes time. It requires that the artist's fee includes the opportunity for this kind of work. And it requires that we, as advisors and clients, dare to ask the question: Are we willing to do fewer projects in order to make them better?
There is something structural at stake here. Our processes are often pressed for time and money. The foundations and municipalities largely finance the finished work – but what about the relationships that give it meaning? What is a work of art worth if the people who pass by it every day don't know who made it, why it's there, or what they can do with it? Co-ownership is not a superficial buzzwordThis is what determines whether art in public space is successful in the long run.
And then there are the artists. The most talented are not just those who make the most beautiful things – they are those who can meet an institution, a group of children, a janitor, a user board, and create something together with them. It is a competence that we should demand explicitly, and that we should give space to develop.
After: This is where many projects lose their steam
That's perhaps the most honest thing I can say about this part of my text: I don't have a good case example. Because follow-up is what we're worst at.
We reveal. We go home. And then – what? Does the work work as we imagined? Do the residents experience what we hoped they would? Is there sufficient maintenance? Is there communication? Is there anyone who can tell the newly arrived care staff, the new school teacher, the new resident what is hanging in the hallway and why it is there?
These questions should be fundamental. And yet they are rarely part of the project we plan, budget, and evaluate.
There is an untapped potential in what could be called, with a somewhat dry word, the 'afterlife' of art. Can we reactivate a work at regular intervals – a conversation, a workshop, a new text? Can we create better access to it, so that it does not just exist in the background, but is actively experienced? Can we, as advisors and consultants, insist that dissemination and follow-up are part of the agreement from the beginning?
What we don't dare to ask about
Behind this whole question of before–during–after lies a larger and more uncomfortable question that we who work with art in the municipality must ask each other: Do we assume that art is good, enriching, important – without daring to investigate whether it actually works as we postulate?
I have no doubt about the art of potential value, but I invite you to take it seriously enough to examine it. Which citizens actually benefit from the art we place in public space? Does it create community or is it overlooked? Does it last over time – materially, symbolically, relationally? And what are the concrete obstacles to art being able to unfold its potential?
I presented the above thoughts at the Danish Association of Visual Artists' municipal conference in February. The assembly expressed a strong desire: A network and forum for art advisors who can exchange experiences. Perhaps even a foundation-funded project that over time examines the integration of art into everyday life – not as revelation projects, but as living processes that we follow and learn from.
It's a good wish. And it starts with an action. Not a big one. But a concrete one.
What can you do to make art more relevant to those for whom it is created?
The text was written by visual artist and art advisor Cecilia de Jong based on a presentation given at the conference. "Art in the Municipality, organized by the Danish Association of Visual Artists, February 2026.
Photos at top:
Ditte Lyngkær Pedersen. Along the Road, 2025. A glass artwork measuring 8 x 2 meters in the main entrance to Sct. Hans School in Odense. Photo: Kasper Hornbæk
Jesper Aabille. The Princess, the Toad and the Golden Ball, 2024. Decoration at the Children's Center Hyllehøj, Middelfart. Photo: Jesper Aabille