New York-based curator and writer Allison Glenn has built a practice around looking closely at place: its histories, communities and the ideas that emerge beyond traditional gallery walls. Her work spans contemporary art and public space, shaped by an early life in Detroit and a longstanding interest in how art can create dialogue with its surroundings.

Now, as curator of the 2026 Toronto Biennial of Art, Things Fall Apart, Allison brings together artists whose practices consider rupture not only as disruption, but as a space for new ways of thinking. 

Ahead of the Biennial’s opening, we spoke with Allison about the experiences that shaped her approach to curating, the importance of listening to place, her instinct for collecting and personal style, and what public art can offer us now.

Was art always part of your world growing up? What were some of your earliest encounters with it, and what stayed with you?

Yes, it absolutely was. I fondly remember visits to Tyree Guyton’s Heidelberg Project and the Detroit Institute of the Arts (DIA) to see Diego Rivera’s Detroit Industry Murals (1932-1933) in Rivera Court. To this day, every time I visit the murals, I am awe inspired. I experimented in many forms of the arts as a child, including dance and piano, both of which did not last more than a class or two. I was also really into science, reading, and problem solving, so go figure! At a young age, I learned how to work a camera, develop film, and print in the darkroom, which is a passion I pursued for a great deal of time.

You’ve spent much of your career working at the intersection of contemporary art and public space. What first drew you to curating, and when did you realise that work beyond the traditional gallery or museum was where your interests lie?

I often think that those foundational experiences had a major impact on the way I see and think about contemporary art. I fell into this side of the field out of a desire to exhibit mine and my colleagues’ work while in undergrad. My earliest exhibitions were in the early 2000s, at galleries and artist run spaces in Detroit that no longer exist. The experiences of working in dialogue with artists to develop something greater than a singular vision resonated so strongly with me.

I knew early on that I was curious about what lives outside of traditional spaces, and this was formed from interests in subgenres, specifically the music scenes in Detroit in the late 90s. Some of those influences appear in 2026 Toronto Biennial of Art, such as the invitation to the legendary Detroit collective Underground Resistance to present work by the iconic Detroit DJ collective Drexciya.

Your practice often begins with a place and the histories, communities and tensions already embedded within it. When you arrive somewhere new, what are you looking and listening for before you begin to make curatorial decisions?

I really try to understand where I am, and what the critical conditions are in a place. The process depends on the project and desired outcome, but speaking to people, research, reading, being physically present in a place are all a part of it. Artists, music, movements, those kinds of things help me to understand what might resonate.

How would you describe your own sense of style, and do the same instincts that shape what you wear, collect or live with ever find their way into your curatorial practice?

My style is focused on interesting cuts, avant garde shapes, colors, and an interest in concealing and revealing at the same time. I love an oversized silhouette! My love affair with thrifting started when I was a teenager and still love the thrill of the hunt. I have some thrifted pieces in my closet from over 10 years ago and love an obscure find. Recently, I found an incredible vintage jacket by Zucca, a Japanese label started in 1989 by Akira Onozuka, who worked for Issey Miyake. The cut and shape is timeless yet so very contemporary. I would say I am definitely a collector of clothes, objects, books, art, jewelry, and have a discerning eye. I love collecting objects when I travel and recently purchased a miniature backstrap loom from Kakaw Designs and terracotta from SelvaSavia in Antigua, Guatemala during a research trip. Living in NY has taught me to take time making selections, as the space is not endless.

Sightlines are really important to me. Not just how something looks from the front, but the sides, back, all angles. I have a ton of mirrors in my home, and love to catch different views from them. Sightlines are extremely important to my work curatorial work. I often ask, how does my body feel in this space, and approach making decisions about artworks, placement, and dialogues with this in mind.

You’re currently curating the 2026 Toronto Biennial, Things Fall Apart. What drew you to the idea of rupture as a starting point, and what does the title mean to you in this particular moment?

In 2021, I started research on an essay, titled “Notes on Rupture” that was grounded in how a group of Caribbean artists confront, incorporate, or explore rupture in their practices. Included in Others Shall Come: Curatorial Voices, this essay was published in 2023 by JBE Books. Two of the artists in the 2026 Toronto Biennial were included in this text: Underground Resistance and Julien Creuzet. The development of the 2026 Toronto Biennial started with a proposal and presentation to the selection committee, where I presented this essay as a starting point for ideas on how the fourth edition could unfold. 

Where we are, in global and US politics right now, is immensely disruptive, impactful, and frightening. As such, what began with my multiyear curatorial investigation into how artists use rupture as an ontological tool has developed into an exhibition that is being realized under moments of intense disruption. The citational usage of the phrase as this indicator was the catalyst for framing the entire curatorial premise.

The question posed at the onset of the curatorial frame––what can we learn from artists who explore rupture as an ontological tool?––is considered within a central exhibition, series of performances, and artist-led programs that invite embodied engagements with these practices, prompting inquiries into how new forms of knowledge can emerge from our shared, collective experiences.

Things Fall Apart considers rupture not simply as collapse, but as something that can create new ways of thinking. At a moment that can feel particularly fractured, what are artists able to show us that other forms of public discourse cannot?

Artists have the ability to frame, complicate, and communicate ideas in dialogic form. The highlighting and reframing of complex perspectives, ideas, and concerns into new forms is what excites me, as rupture can also be a site of possibility. Imagine what could happen if ideas and systems were rethought in this way.

Public art has historically been concerned with permanence, monuments and what a culture chooses to commemorate. What do you think public art needs to be now, and what might it need to leave behind?

Public art engages highly accidental, multigenerational audiences. As such, it does need to leave behind monolithic thinking. This part of the field is still quite entrenched with questions around affordability and feasibility, with production and commissions often being realize by those who have galleries and other financial means backing them. This can leave many artists in a position where their ideas cannot get off the ground. 

Public art could look to historical projects on subways, busses, billboards, and newspaper advertising, asking what contemporary platforms present the best conditions for art to live. Opportunities like this are why I enjoy working with biennials and triennials, as they tend to be more experimental and interested in audience engagement. 

To open the 2026 Toronto Biennial, we are inviting visitors to listen to a 16-person choral presentation by Brendan Fernandes while aboard a tall ship in Lake Ontario and to join artist, Raphaël Barontini in a carnival-style street parade, providing platforms for audiences to be fully immersed and connected with the ideas that artists are presenting.

PHOTOGRAPHER

Jenna Saraco