Where is the artist in the art?
A light blue double bed sits in the centre of the gallery space. It is covered by a plain white bedspread and sprinklings of woollen daisies. The viewer is told that the artwork is by artist Corinne, an artist who is confined to bed, which they once considered ‘a place of entrapment’. Inspired by Frida Kahlo, Corinne has reframed their bed as their studio, referring to it as their collaborator, subject matter and whole world. ‘My life and art have become inextricably entwined’, they explain. Through their art practice they ensure the world comes to them, at the same time as sharing insights into complex experiences of confinement.
When we look at an artwork, does knowledge and context about the artist’s life impact how we view their work? And from the perspective of the artist, is it psychologically and/or intellectually helpful to address personal experiences through an art practice? These questions cut straight to the purposes of art. I began with the example of Corinne as their work raises these questions very clearly. They explain that, for them, making art is both therapeutic and activist. As viewers, in order to understand at least one of the artists’ aims in showing the art publicly – raising visibility of experiences – we need to know about those experiences. But as for all art, we don’t need to know every detail in order to garner meaning: every biography is constructed with care.
Corinne is one artist we work with at Bethlem Gallery, a gallery and studio space situated in south east London, on the site of Bethlem Royal Hospital, one of the oldest psychiatric hospitals in the world – previously known as Bedlam. We work with over 200 artists annually on artist development, a public programme, commissions and public projects, opening up conversations about mental health and artistic practice. Being located in such a famous hospital means that there is a predefined context for any artworks on show in the gallery.
Sometimes this heavy context enables an artist incorporating personal experiences to make serious broader points about society and marginalised experiences. Often the confessional mode in art – using personal biography – is critiqued as the equivalent of click bait; a sensationalist way of commodifying the artist as a brand. At Bethlem, however, siting the artwork in a strong, historical, institutional context – where visitors to the gallery have to walk through huge hospital gates – foregrounds the structural roots of many personal experiences. It supports a feminist interpretation that anything personal is political; that a personal experience of illness or trauma is an instance of structural injustice.
Another impact of the mental health hospital context is that it often prompts visitors to think about the artist before the art. They might be interested in a diagnosis rather than the stories in and experience of the artwork. We always walk a very fine line in balancing the biography of an artist against art: we need to honour the artists biography but we want to tell the story of an artwork rather than pathologise a person. An artist’s experiences, wellbeing – and future – are the priority, and our processes of framing art, collaboratively, are also a duty of care. In interpreting art, we want to open up different experiences and representations of the world for discussion and understanding. That can mean an artist’s biography isn’t mentioned at all.
Mr X is an artist who drives his artwork around: he makes mobile spaceships out of tape and found materials that glisten as he drives along the pavement. He calls what he makes ‘something glamourous, something awkward’, a term adopted as the title of a documentary film about him (2025). In the film, Mr X shows how his art practice, building spaces as sanctuaries, has enabled him to survive for decades in institutions. We don’t need to know that in order to experience his work, seeing a large, bright, flashing object parking up outside. Mr X is interested in bringing excitement to those who witness it. The work is not about his biography but performance; his whole self is thrown into it, but it’s not about him.
Viewers might appreciate information about context and biography to help understand a work. It might be vital in order for the artist to fulfil their vision and hopes for their art. Art and lived experience are often important partners, and inseparable – but art must be framed with care.
This blog was written by Sophie Leighton, Bethlem Gallery Director and based on an article she wrote that appeared in the autumn 2026 issue of RA Magazine.