A giant dinosaur skeleton in the atrium of the city’s main public library. An environmental sculpture that doubles as a working skate park. A massive earthwork covering 160 acres in the San Luis Valley.

It’s been a long, strange decade for Black Cube Nomadic Museum, the unpredictable producer of public art that has rewritten the rules of the exhibition business and served up one surprising show after the next. Black Cube prides itself on being homeless, taking art to the people rather than setting up shop in the pristine white cubes that usually host contemporary work.

The concept — developed and executed by philanthropist Laura Merage and curator Cortney Lane Stell in 2015 — came along at the perfect time, as brick-and-mortar permanence was fading and the world was turning mobile. Based in Colorado but with a global reach, Black Cube has commissioned large-scale, temporary works in public plazas and empty warehouses, at unlikely locations like the Denver Water Treatment Plant and the U.S. Air Force Academy Chapel in Colorado Springs, and in cities like Pittsburgh, Chicago and Venice, Italy. It has funded dream projects by more than 240 regional and international artists.

The nonprofit organization is marking its 10th anniversary with more surprises. On June 21, it will host an exhibition titled “flood” at Denver’s Taxi development that will be part performance art, part pool party. In September, it will open a group show about the concept of storage in Englewood.

We asked curator Stell a few questions.

Q: A museum with no home? How has that worked out for you?

Stell: It’s immensely challenging to operate this way — to start from the ground zero with each project, meeting new communities, understanding the legal perimeters and socio-cultural dynamics. Our projects cannot lean on the inherent prestige of a pristine gallery space, nor do I have the stability of using one space to plan a traditional exhibition calendar around. It’s all variables. Each project brings new challenges that often require a lot of empathy and openness paired with dogged perseverance. This work requires vigilance and care, and is not for the faint of heart.

Q: What kind of art do you like to present as chief curator?

A: I often call myself a “stray cat” curator — a moniker born out of my experiences working as an independent curator with many institutions across many geographies. That approach involves being curious about everything — communities, histories, ecology, achievements, traumas — which ultimately leads to curating projects in contextually relevant and decentered ways that provoke curiosity in artists and audiences alike.

I am always trying to test and expand what Black Cube can do. Helming an experimental museum without walls, I feel it’s my responsibility to work with as many different types of artists and art practices as I can. I also like to work with artists at growth points in their careers, seeking artists who have demonstrated that they can take on the challenges of working in unconventional spaces.

As far as Black Cube’s mission goes, I like to describe it as a three-legged stool, three elements in balance — supporting artists’ ambitious ideas for new site-specific art, engaging both broad and specific audiences, and changing the idea of what a museum can be.

Q: How do audiences figure into your work?

A: While producing new artworks is rewarding in itself, the deeper meaning and lasting impact come from how these works resonate with people — how they are interpreted, engaged with and remembered. At Black Cube, we’re not just plopping random sculpture in public space — we’re producing art in context. That means the individuals and communities where a project takes place are integral to both the process and the outcome.

Over the years, I’ve learned never to think of “the public” as a single, static entity. Communities are living, dynamic and plural — which means they are going to engage with contemporary art in markedly different ways. They’re made up of long-time residents, new arrivals, shifting demographics, and often even non-human participants — whether that’s pigeons in the city or a landscape itself.

Our audience engagement process often begins early in the research phase of a project and can even continue through a project’s closure. But it’s not just about anticipating a response; it’s also about listening, building relationships, and meeting people where they are at.

For instance, when we were developing a large-scale earthwork in a rural farming area, we learned that food insecurity was a pressing local issue. In response, we used our in-house design capacity to support a campaign for the local food pantry while researching the artwork. That gesture helped begin to build trust with some residents and showed we were invested in the community, not just the site.

Q: I often wonder one thing when I see your projects: Who let these folks in here?

A: Permission is a huge part of what we do — and often the most unpredictable. Securing these sites often takes a mix of persistence, creativity and a bit of luck. The process isn’t just about ticking legal boxes — it’s about building trust, aligning with the right gatekeepers and sometimes waiting patiently for the right opening.

One moment that sticks with me is from 2017, when we were determined to stage a performance piece, “Avalanche,” at the Denver Wastewater campus. Despite support from prominent community members and multiple email introductions, we hit a wall — no responses, no callbacks. Eventually, after exhausting our options, I stopped by the site in person and struck up a conversation with a woman outside on a smoke break. She turned out to be the admin assistant to the director of operations.

Q: What is the biggest obstacle?

A: Getting folks who are not in the contemporary art field and likely do not regularly look at concept sketches or models to understand the vision for the art and get on board with the idea (and hopefully even excited). In this relationship, building mutual respect is key. In a way, “getting permission” isn’t just a box to check — it’s a process of embedding ourselves in place, and that’s where a lot of the meaning comes from.

Q: And then, once you get it, how do you fund the work?

We’ve been incredibly fortunate to have the steadfast support of the David and Laura Merage Foundation since Black Cube’s founding. Their belief in the value of experimentation and context-driven art is the foundation that has allowed us to grow and take creative risks.

Beyond that, each project requires its own fundraising effort, and the scale varies widely — from $10,000 for a small activation to over $250,000 for large-scale installations. We have had one project that has had budget of more than $1 million. We’ve received critical support from foundations that really understand the unconventional nature of our work, including Ruth Arts and the Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts.

Partnerships also play a huge role, not only in terms of funding but in deepening the conceptual integrity of the projects. A great example is a 2023 project, Pipelines, with artists Julia Jamrozik and Coryn Kempster, which used PVC water pipes — common yet invisible materials that run beneath our country. We partnered with JM Eagle, a major PVC manufacturer, who donated around $45,000 worth of materials. But the partnership went well beyond donation — they met with the artists, shared insight into the manufacturing process, and even reclaimed the material at the end of the project to recycle it into new products.

Q: Colorado artist and philanthropist Laura Merage is the founder of Black Cube (and she is also the founder of the RedLine art center). Could just give us a few adjectives that sum up her contribution over 10 years?

A: Bold. Steadfast. Strategic. Empowering. Artist-first. Unflinching.

Q: What are some of the challenges of your job?

A: Like any job, there are parts I could do without — insurance renewals, data storage systems, endless forms. They’re not glamorous, but they’re necessary to keep the engine running.

But the real challenge — the one that weighs most heavily — is when a project loses momentum before it ever reaches the public. Because our projects often involve long timelines — due to fundraising, site permissions, engineering, fabrication and more —there are times when the initial spark of an idea begins to dim. When an artist loses energy or focus because of these delays, it can be disheartening.

Those moments are tough, because you feel the weight of all that unrealized potential. It’s something I work actively to manage — by staying communicative, breaking large timelines into smaller milestones, and helping artists keep a sense of purpose and ownership throughout the journey.

Q: This is what would kill me: everything is experimental. Anything could go wrong at any time.

A: In our 10 years, there have been two projects that hit major complications. I won’t go into the specifics, but I can say they led to serious burnout for me — both mentally and physically. Those moments were incredibly difficult, and they forced me to pause, reflect and reassess how we operate.

What got me through was a combination of honest reflection and support. Laura Merage’s steady presence and belief in the mission made a huge difference, and my former colleague Hannah James was also instrumental in helping the organization move forward. Worry is real — and, yes, it can be depleting — but I’ve learned that resilience is something you build over time, and you have to surround yourself with people who help you hold the mission when it feels heavy … and sometimes you just need to take a day off.

Q: I want to hear about this upcoming happening “flood.” I would describe it as a big pool party.

A: Yes, flood is very much a party — but it’s a party in the face of disaster. It embraces the spirit of celebration, community and playfulness while simultaneously confronting the very real and pressing challenges of our time: environmental instability, social fragmentation and cultural upheaval.

Set against the backdrop of Denver’s Globeville neighborhood and the flood-prone South Platte River, the ephemeral one-afternoon exhibition uses the form of a pool party — a space historically charged with issues of race, class and exclusion — as a critical lens. This juxtaposition creates a space where joy and reckoning coexist. “Flood” acknowledges that in times of uncertainty and systemic crisis, coming together to celebrate, to reflect, and to experiment is itself a form of resilience and resistance.

Q: Finally, can you tease us about what is to come?

A: After more than a year of detailed conversations and coordination, we are thrilled to finally have a path forward with the city of Englewood toward opening the Black Cube Headquarters to the public (at a capacity of under 50 people). This milestone marks a new chapter for us, a homecoming after a decade of operations. With this space, we’ll launch a membership program and develop a rich calendar of exhibitions and community programming that activates both the warehouse and our kitchen.

For info on Back Cube and its upcoming events: blackcube.art.

Ray Mark Rinaldi is a Denver-based freelance writer specializing in fine arts.