In the dynamic intersection of art history, archival practice, and Black feminist thought, Bethany Hill stands as a visionary bridge-builder. As an archivist, curator, and PhD candidate in Art History specializing in Black visual culture and Black feminist spatial practices, Hill’s work transcends traditional boundaries of preservation. Through her leadership at the South Side Community Art Center in Chicago and her current role as Community Engagement Coordinator at Duke University’s David M. Rubenstein Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Hill approaches archives not merely as repositories of the past but as active sites of worldbuilding that shape futures.
Drawing inspiration from storytellers like Octavia Butler, Hill sees her curatorial and archival work as a form of radical imagination—one that amplifies Black women’s voices while creating space for community-driven narratives to flourish. Her approach to cultural heritage emphasizes accessibility, collaboration, and the critical importance of community stewardship, ensuring that those who lived the stories maintain control over how they’re preserved and shared.
Your work explores Black feminist spatial practices and worldbuilding through art and archives. How did your journey into curation and archiving begin, and what defining experiences have shaped your approach?
My journey into curation and archiving has been most recently shaped by deep gratitude for the South Side Community Art Center and the people there who have supported and challenged me to grow. I’m especially thankful to Archives and Collections Manager LaMar Gayles Jr. and Executive Director Monique Brinkman-Hill, who have entrusted me with opportunities to develop as a curator and lead curatorial projects that engage the Center’s incredible history. Their guidance and belief in my vision have been invaluable.
Working at SSCAC has allowed me to explore how archives can be activated beyond institutional walls. Developing a digital Story Map that connects archival materials with physical locations in Chicago was a turning point—it showed me how history can be made more tangible and present. My work with oral histories, whether amplifying the voices of Black women collectors or collaborating with The Sisterhood, reinforced the power of firsthand storytelling in shaping cultural memory.
My academic research on Black feminist spatial practices has also influenced my approach. I see archives as more than repositories—they are sites of worldbuilding, much like Octavia Butler’s narratives that push beyond the present to imagine new possibilities. I’m invested in engaging with Black cultural history not just as something to be preserved, but as a critical vehicle to actively engaging and shaping more hopeful futures.
How has digital technology and virtual engagement influenced your approach to curation and archiving Black cultural heritage? What innovations excite you about the future of this work?
Digital technology and virtual engagement have significantly expanded the ways I approach curation and archiving Black cultural heritage. In my experience working at Black cultural heritage institutions like the South Side Community Art Center, I’ve seen digital tools become helpful resources for preserving and amplifying Black stories, making them more accessible to wider audiences while maintaining community-centered stewardship.
One major shift is the ability to create digital exhibitions and virtual archives that transcend physical boundaries. I think this allows for broader public engagement—you can get a story out to folks who may not have the means to visit in person as well as engage a very broad audience with underrepresented stories and histories. Social media has also become a powerful tool for community-driven storytelling, fostering real-time dialogue around historical and contemporary Black cultural expressions. I’m excited about the ways technology holds promise for making Black cultural archives more interactive, discoverable, and protected from erasure or misrepresentation.
As a curator and archivist, you actively engage with communities to preserve Black creative legacies. What role do community-driven archives play in shaping cultural narratives today?
Community-driven archives are essential because they ensure that Black stories are preserved and shared by the people who lived them. It’s a way to fight for the nuance, creativity, and everyday experiences that make up our histories. When communities take the lead, they’re not just filling in the gaps—they’re shifting the narrative entirely.
These archives make history more accessible and relevant, whether through oral histories, local preservation projects, or digital storytelling. They show that Black cultural memory isn’t something static or locked away—it’s alive, evolving, and shaped by the people who continue to carry it forward.
How do you mentor and uplift emerging curators and researchers? What advice would you offer to those entering the field, especially young Black scholars and cultural workers?
Mentorship, for me, is about creating access and making room at the table for others. It’s also about creating space and collaborating through trust, letting those with “less experience” come alongside you to co-create projects with opportunity to articulate their own expertise. I want to make sure I’m never operating in a silo but rather always connecting to emerging curators and researchers—especially young Black scholars—so that they also feel supported, valued, and prepared to navigate this field. And I have so much to learn from them too. Sharing resources, making introductions, and being transparent about the realities of working in cultural heritage spaces is key. It’s important that folks just starting in this kind of work know their voices and perspectives are needed, even when institutions make it feel otherwise.
My advice? Build community. The most meaningful work happens in collaboration, not isolation. Seek out elders and peers who will challenge and support you. Work with folks who are invested in opening doors for others. Don’t wait for permission to tell the stories that matter to you—trust that your perspective is valuable. And always feel empowered to take care of yourself and to set boundaries with your work. Balance is healing. Cultural organizing work is so important but it’s also exhausting; nurturing your own body and soul helps sustain you and thus the work.
How do you use your platform to address issues of representation and equity in the art world? What responsibilities do curators have in shaping cultural memory and historical narratives?
Curating is a form of storytelling where you can highlight the stories and voices that are often overlooked or erased in the art world, particularly those of Black artists, women, and other marginalized groups. This means creating shows that center these voices, sharing their work in spaces where they’re typically excluded, and making sure their narratives are presented in ways that feel authentic to their experiences. I also make it a point to build connections with community-driven initiatives and grassroots organizations that are doing this work on the ground.
Curators have a deep responsibility in shaping cultural memory and historical narratives. We’re not just choosing what art to display—we’re actively deciding which stories get told and how they’re framed. That comes with the responsibility of being intentional about inclusion, context, and the power structures that influence what gets preserved. We must be aware of how our decisions shape the way history is remembered and who gets to be seen, heard, and celebrated in the process. It’s about recognizing that curating isn’t neutral—it’s an opportunity to create more equitable, inclusive spaces for storytelling.
Institutional pressures sometimes challenge curatorial principles, especially in discussions around race and activism. Have you faced such moments, and how did you navigate them?
Yes, I’ve encountered moments where institutional pressures clash with curatorial principles, especially when it comes to race and activism. These are often moments where the urgency and importance of the work feel at odds with institutional priorities like funding, mainstream appeal, or even a push to maintain neutrality.
Navigating those challenges means staying grounded in my values and knowing when to push back. I’ve learned to use those tensions as opportunities to bring more people into the conversation—whether it’s with colleagues, community members, or other stakeholders—so that we can collectively advocate for a more authentic and responsible approach. I believe that when you’re clear about why the work matters, you can find ways to stay true to your curatorial vision while also working within the constraints of the institution. Sometimes that means finding creative ways to push boundaries without burning bridges.
What legacy do you hope to leave through your curatorial and archival work? How do you envision the future of Black cultural preservation and interpretation?
The legacy I want to leave through my curatorial and archival work is one that amplifies Black women’s voices and creates space for us to imagine and build the future. I’m inspired by radical story tellers like Octavia Butler, who showed us that storytelling can push beyond the constraints of the present and tap into the possibilities of what’s to come. Her work was all about survival, transformation, and envisioning futures we often don’t get to see. That’s what I want my work to reflect—Black narratives that are alive, evolving, and leading us forward.
If you could reshape one aspect of the art and archival world to better serve Black artists and communities, what would it be?
Response: If I could reshape one aspect of the art and archival world, it would be ownership and control over Black cultural materials. Too often, Black artists and communities have their work collected, exhibited, or archived by institutions that don’t fully engage them in the process—or worse, profit from their creativity without accountability. I’d push for more models of community stewardship, where Black artists and cultural workers have a say in how their work is preserved, accessed, and interpreted.
