What Tannis Richardson taught me about museums

Tannis Richardson believed museums should never intimidate people. That sounds obvious. It is not.

Since her passing in April, I have often found myself thinking about the many conversations we shared over my nearly two decades as director and CEO of the Winnipeg Art Gallery–Qaumajuq. Some took place in galleries, boardrooms and community events. Others unfolded quietly in her home, surrounded by art and memories gathered over a lifetime of curiosity and generosity.

Our conversations repeatedly returned to the same questions: What makes a museum meaningful? Who is it for? And why do so many cultural institutions still make ordinary people feel they are standing on the outside looking in?

Tannis helped shape my answers to those questions.

When I arrived at the WAG, she was already one of the institution’s great champions. For decades, she and her family supported the gallery through donations, exhibitions, educational initiatives and building projects. Yet what distinguished Tannis was not simply philanthropy. It was the depth of care and conviction she brought to the idea of the museum itself.

Within months of my arrival, George and Tannis invited me to their home to see their art collection and talk about the future of the WAG. We spoke about artists, architecture, museums and their lifetime of collecting.

What struck me most was Tannis’s belief that museums were fundamentally about human connection. Art was never abstract or detached from daily life for her. Behind every object was a person: the artist, the maker, the collector or the student.

She also loved the humour and surprises that art could bring into everyday life. I remember Tannis telling me about the time she and George acquired a bronze nude by Alexander Archipenko. Their cleaning lady was apparently distressed — not because the sculpture was nude, but because the figure had no arms, and she thought they should have received a discount.

Tannis loved moments like this because they punctured the self-seriousness museums sometimes wrap around art.

She was also always there for me in my work at the WAG — ready to offer advice, encouragement or a fresh perspective, often just a phone call away. And when she called, the conversation frequently began with: “Stephen, I’ve been thinking about what you said…” or “Stephen, I have an idea for you.”

That same sensibility shaped how she thought about the visitor experience. She once reminded me that the seating in the galleries should not simply look good; it needed to be comfortable and accessible for all visitors. Benches should be high enough to rise from easily and some should include arms.

Exhibition labels needed to be large enough, well lit enough, and positioned properly so everyone could read them. Children, she insisted, should be able to see the art in display cases without struggling to peer over glass vitrines.

Tannis understood that people rarely remember a museum’s mission statement. They remember whether the institution made them feel comfortable, included and inspired enough to return.

For her, accessibility was never a bureaucratic checklist or institutional slogan. It was a moral position. Museums that confuse exclusivity with excellence eventually lose the very public they claim to serve.

Long before museums adopted the language of “community engagement,” Tannis understood that cultural institutions survive because people give more than money. They give time, conviction, relationships and belief.

That philosophy shaped her relationship with the WAG over more than 75 years. She first joined the gallery as a volunteer in 1950 and became instrumental in many of its defining moments. She helped raise funds for the remarkable revolving stone door designed by architect Gustavo da Roza for the new WAG building in 1971. She supported the growth of the collection and educational programs that broadened the gallery’s reach.

I was also thrilled when we welcomed George and Tannis’s Inuit sculptures into the permanent collection.

Tannis also rejected narrow definitions of what a museum should collect or celebrate. She valued Indigenous, Canadian and European art, along with decorative arts and modern sculpture.

She loved seeing the permanent collection on view and encouraged me to bring furniture, silver, porcelain and glass out of storage and into the galleries because these objects deepened and enriched people’s understanding of culture and history.

Art was not something to divide people. It was something that could bring people together through curiosity, learning and shared experience.

That spirit became especially visible during the development of Qaumajuq. Tannis was genuinely excited by the possibilities of the new building and eager to meet architect Michael Maltzan. She understood instinctively what the Centre aspired to become: not a monument to cultural prestige, but a civic space animated by people, conversation and encounter.

Along with her family’s significant support for the project, she also ensured the building entrance be animated by a public sculpture: Time to Play by Abraham Anghik Ruben.

The monumental stone piece now sits outside Qaumajuq, welcoming visitors before they enter the building. Even here, Tannis focused not on prestige, but on how people — especially children — would experience the sculpture.

One of my last visits with her at the WAG took place beside that sculpture, sitting with the artist who created it. We talked about art, museums and the power of cultural spaces to shape civic life.

I often remind staff and colleagues that before engagement within the museum — before the welcome to the space — there must be an invitation. For Tannis, in this instance, it was Ruben’s bears.

When I left the WAG last year to launch the Civic Muse consultancy, Tannis offered words I continue to carry with me. She hoped I would take what I had learned leading the gallery and share it with others — helping organizations strengthen their missions and ensuring art and culture remained visible and accessible within Winnipeg and beyond.

Those words reflected the values she embodied throughout her life: generosity, mentorship, civic responsibility and a belief that culture matters profoundly in public life.

Museums often speak about public trust. Tannis Richardson spent a lifetime quietly building it.

Stephen Borys is president and CEO of Civic Muse, and former director and CEO of the Winnipeg Art Gallery–Qaumajuq.