I’m an artist working with a poor family on a participatory project at a local museum. They are Latino. The project is about their perceptions of art. Who might I talk to or where might I look for similar projects, or even guidance on working with this population? I’m not Latino or poor (or low-income, opinions vary widely on terminology).

Joav BarEl. Center of the World, 2014; installation view, Tempo Rubato Gallery, Tel Aviv.

The Thanksgiving holiday is just behind us, but I want to begin by stating my sincere appreciation for this question, because it supplied me with the opportunity to contact some of the most generous people in the Western Hemisphere. Given the events of the last few weeks, the following warm and thoughtful responses are especially welcome right now, and it’s the right time (is there ever a wrong time?) to be talking about socially aware art projects and communication between groups of people.

Because of his extensive practice and his knowledge of working within institutions, it seemed only right to reach out to Pablo Helguera first. This is his response:

“I think this artist would be best served by working with the education department of that museum—usually people in the education department are professionally trained to work with various groups of people, and regularly do outreach and other programs that involve them in a conversation about art. But first the artist perhaps needs to define the goals for this project, and exactly the kind of participation he/she is aspiring to get. Second, if the project is about [the family’s] perceptions of art, there are an infinite amount of programs that involve communities in that. The artist would need to determine why or how this is not an education program versus a socially engaged art project (i.e., Is the family going to learn something about the museum, or is this artist going to work with them to develop a new project?). Depending on what this artist is hoping to achieve, there are many successful programs at other museums that may be of interest, such as SFMOMA, Queens Museum, etc. Not being ‘Latino or poor,’ as this artist says, should not be a limitation if one is working as a professional in the field. It is more about the recognition of difference and how this is communicated that matters.”

Mr. Helguera was too shy to promote his own book, Education for Socially Engaged Art, but the other respondents mentioned it right away. Pittsburgh-based artist Edith Abeyta included it in her list of recommended materials: “There are many social-practice resources available online and in print. For general social practice and community arts guidance, I recommend Education for Socially Engaged Art by Pablo Helguera, and Beginner’s Guide to Community-Based Art by Keith Knight and Mat Schwarzman. Both books are quick reads. There is even a short how-to video primer for the Beginner’s Guide to Community Art.”

Abeyta also continued with some thought-provoking counsel: “It’s a bit difficult to formulate a response to this question, mainly because it implies one needs to be of the same economic, cultural, and ethnic background to connect to others. If the artist is working with one family and their perceptions, this seems to be the obvious place to start. Who are they? Spend time getting to know them. This family [that the artist is working with] is unique, and that is where I would focus my interaction. There is not one all-inclusive Latino population—is the family Mexican, Guatemalan, Honduran, Salvadoran, Nicaraguan, Cuban, or Puerto Rican? Are they immigrants? First generation or second? There is also not only one single approach to an art project that addresses low-income or working-class people. I believe the question is: How do I collaborate on an art project with people I think I have no common ground [with]?

“Having an interest in others and the ability to be social are important qualities to possess. Sometimes the basics get overlooked. Time is another crucial element. Getting to know people is generally a slow, gradual process, typically involving misunderstandings and frustrations, as well as camaraderie and good times.”

Jen Delos Reyes, the director and founder of Open Engagement, also stresses the need to return to some basic principles: “First, let me thank you for taking a moment to check your privilege. This is an important first step. Also key is the willingness you have displayed to engage in dialogue that could be challenging and uncomfortable. Through this you might end up needing to face assumptions and behaviors you didn’t realize were in operation.

“As an artist that has worked with museums over the years on realizing participatory and community-based projects, I will let you know that through taking on this work within that system, the institution should also be assessing their privilege and position, as well as their motives for either choosing to work in this way, or in other cases resisting working with or including certain communities. In most cases, this is not easy for them to do, but I believe it is important work.

“In your question you are looking for allies and resources. First, an ally: Former student Patricia Vaquez worked on a project with the Portland Art Museum titled Reinauguración, in which she worked with Latino immigrant workers who were landscapers at the museum for fifteen and seventeen years, respectively, but never went inside. For her project, she visited the museum with them and had conversations about art and their perceptions of the museum. She then had galleries in the museum dedicated to these workers for one night only, in the same way wealthy patrons or donors have things named after them. You can watch this Oregon Art Beat video about the Shine a Light project that Reinauguración was a part of.

“A great resource for you would be the ‘Footprints, Power, and Privilege’ assignment from the Art and Social Practice Workbook, written by Betty Marin, Mario Mesquita, and Alysha Shaw. It would be a great activity to do with your collaborators—including staff at the museum—to start the conversation. My final advice for you is [to cultivate] skills I believe are needed not only by all artists involved in socially engaged art, but for all of us engaged in the world: empathy and awareness.”

Last but not least, artist Janet Owen Driggs suggested that you make a point of reading Chapter 3 of Pedagogy of the Oppressed by Paulo Friere. It’s not a particularly long chapter, but there’s a nice summary of it here: “Dialogue hinges upon several things: One of them is love. Dialogue cannot occur without love for the world and for people. Love goes hand-in-hand with liberation. Love is an act of courage and not of fear.” Let’s remember those words in the coming weeks and years, whether we consider our projects to be “socially engaged” or not. Good luck!

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As an independent curator also affiliated with the programming of a commercial space, I often find a strange tension during studio visits as to whom the visit is on behalf of. As clearly as I try to communicate that my interest is for personal projects, I frequently find myself reiterating in future correspondence that I am not in fact offering representation or an exhibition opportunity on behalf of the gallery. What is the best way to navigate this sort of conflict without being misleading to the numerous artists I have the pleasure of visiting? While it seems appropriate to communicate this before we even meet, I also feel conflicted as to how an immediate disclaimer reflects on my attitude/open-mindedness. Any advice as to timing and phrasing would be a tremendous help!

Your position is a tricky one, and I appreciate that you want to be on the level with the artists whose studios you visit. It sounds like the message you impart about your role isn’t always being taken seriously, and I wonder if some of the artists you are visiting have clogged ears or an overdeveloped sense of optimism. Perhaps despite all the evidence to the contrary they think that you are just testing them, humbly disguising your real intentions to offer them a solo show at your employer’s gallery if the visit goes well.

John Baldessari, Man with Blue Shape, 1991. Photograph, 77.5 x 122 cm

In any case, it’s going to behoove you to be confident and direct with your message. I know that artists can sometimes seem misguided, but since you say you feel conflicted about making disclaimers, I wonder if you are really being as forthright as possible? You can avoid confusion or hurt feelings by stating your intentions candidly. By making sure that you convey your specific and limited role when you make the initial contact for the visit (by email, that way it will be in writing), and again in person when you begin the studio visit, you can avoid a miscommunication. You don’t need to feel conflicted about this. Personally—and I suspect I am not alone in this opinion—I would rather work with a curator who speaks plainly about her position and interest.

In writing, you might try something like, “Though I do work for Gallery X, my interest in your work stems from my own curatorial practice, independent of my employment.” In person, you might want to start the conversation with, “Just so you know…” “Before we really get into it, I’d like to make it clear that…” or “Because of some confusion in the past, I want to clarify…” By reiterating your position in person, I hope you’ll drive the message home. If you think you might be uncomfortable saying something like this, rehearse it with a friend or in front of a mirror. When you deliver your lines, check to make sure that the artist is nodding or otherwise indicating comprehension before you move on. If an artist asks you about representation or other opportunities at your employer’s gallery, you can just say, “Unfortunately, I don’t have that kind of decision-making power.”

If you’ve outlined your position twice, in writing and again face-to-face, and yet need to reiterate your intentions to a particular artist it might be a warning sign that this person will be difficult to deal with in the future.

John Baldessari, Two Whales (with People), 2010. Screenprint on paper, 32.25 x 23.60 in, edition of 50

I am an emerging artist in the process of a minor transformation and I could use a little advice. For the past ten years I have made sculptures and installations that are mechanically and technologically very complex. Because of this I have always maintained a large studio/workshop filled with tools, equipment, and materials. Lately I have begun to find this approach burdensome in terms of the resources it requires and the accumulation of physical objects that is its natural result. Therefore I have begun to make work that is immaterial and doesn’t require the infrastructure of a studio, like single channel videos, web projects, etc. These projects are working out for me and I am considering ditching my studio altogether. My question is: Can a contemporary artist expect to be taken seriously if he doesn’t maintain a studio? How might I deal with studio visits with curators/gallerists etc.? Am I being hasty and reactionary?

Many artists have gone through a sea change, abandoning one body of work in favor of something new. In 1970 John Baldessari famously burned all his early paintings and made work from the ashes before turning the bulk of his attention to appropriation and photography. Perhaps you are undergoing the same kind of transformation.

It’s not for me to say if you are being hasty and reactionary—that’s an issue you can puzzle out with the friends who know your practice and your work well enough to judge. In fact, it’s difficult to give you hard and fast advice without knowing exactly how you arrived at your decision to stop making sculptures and installation. You might be going through a phase, or you might be on the verge of a whole new life. How do you feel about commitment? If you like to change your style or job frequently, you might want to wait and see what happens before you dump your studio. If you’ve been rocking the same M.O. since high school and tend to follow a course for a long time, this might be an indicator that your days as a sculptor are truly over. Only you can decide if this is a long-term decision or a temporary state of mind.

John Baldessari, The Pencil Story, 1972-1973. Two B-Type prints on board with colored pencil

Can a contemporary artist be taken seriously without a studio? Well, it depends on what kind of artist you are. I can envision, for example, a social practitioner who claims the world as her studio, and I can see the curators of the next Documenta taking that kind of thing very seriously indeed. If your work is strong you can get away with a lot, and I think you could certainly make a case as a conceptual/non-material artist for not needing a physical studio.

But is there a middle ground here, even a temporary one? If you are making videos and want to show them to curators and gallerists you’ll need some sort of place to meet and talk. This could be a spare room in your house or a cleared-out corner of your apartment. You could also consider renting a small space in a large, shared studio or office where you could put a desk and chairs, a place where you could receive visitors without having to clean your bathroom and tidy up your living area. If you have an exhibition, ask the gallery if you can use the exhibition space as a meeting place during off hours. Then you can tour visitors through the exhibition as well as use your laptop or website to show them images of other work.

Perhaps you can put your tools and equipment into storage for a while. It’s cheaper than renting a studio and you can always go back to it if you change your mind. Like the box you never open after moving, if you haven’t gone to your storage space in, say, a year or two, you might feel comfortable letting go of what’s inside. Good luck.

Your friendly counselor, hard at work.

Question: Both my girlfriend and I are artists. Neither of us are particularly successful with our art careers (yet!). In the past, we’ve worked separately in our studios, but we are thinking that we may be stronger working together. I’m a little nervous to start this process. Do you think it is a good idea to mix art and love?

Two creative minds are often better than one, and the examples of Jeanne Claude and Christo and Ed and Nancy Keinholz tell us that art and love can surely be mixed. But before you run out to buy matching smocks and berets, consider the reality of working on tasks that you already do together. When you cook, does one of you tend to take the lead, dictating the selection of dishes and the proper ways to prep, add, and stir? Or are you happily slicing and dicing like synchronized surgeons? When you’re running errands in the car, do you argue about routes and where to park? Or does one drive and the other assume co-pilot duties with nary a cross word between you? Your everyday activities will tell you a lot about how a collaborative relationship might proceed.

Oh yeah? Well I have 20/20 vision, so I get to choose all the paint colors!

And that’s not to say that a bickering duo should never work together; friction is productive both in and out of the studio. But in the interest of household harmony, you might want to start small with one piece or a limited-run project. Lay out the terms in advance: how much time and money you’re going to spend, who decides on which aspect, how you’re going to negotiate a disagreement. Talking about the issues will prepare you for what’s ahead and alert you to any sticking points in advance. If you can agree to the basics at the verbal level, then you’ll know that working together is worth a try. And if your short-term project doesn’t pan out as well as you’d like, you’ll have an easy out that’s not as damaging to true love in the same way as saying, “You’re a pain in the ass and I don’t think we should work together anymore.”

You mention that you’re “not particularly successful” and while I don’t think that has any direct bearing on your question, it does give you the advantage of being able to experiment and iron out all the kinks in your collaborative process before you’re in the public eye.

From left to right, Whitney Biennial curatorial teams Elisabeth Sussman and Jay Sanders, Francesco Bonami and Gary Carrion-Murayari, Henriette Huldisch and Shamim M. Momin, Chrissie Iles and Philippe Vergne

Currently, the lines between curator, artist, and gallerist are relatively flexible. A person could consider themselves all of the above, switching hats regularly to occupy different art world roles. My question stems from frequently noticing that the person responsible for curating a group show has also included his or her work into the group show. How appropriate is this? When is it being proactive about creating opportunities for oneself and when is it opportunistic?

Let me start by saying that I’m all for the wearing of different hats. However, in art as in sartorial matters, it is strange to wear two hats at the same time. They clash, and they also make your head look big.

As far as I have been able to determine, there are two good reasons to put your own work into a show for which you are also administratively responsible, but for neither are you actually truly a curator. The first is if you want to organize a show around a particular theme for which none of the participants will exhibit preexisting work; that is to say, all work will be created specifically for the show. In this way, everyone is experimenting around a concept, and the hierarchy is fairly level: you are merely one of the exhibitors, albeit one with more tasks. You are not actually a curator. The other situation is an exhibition juried by an artist. In viewing the work of the juror, the audience gets a glimpse into the tastes (and perhaps methodologies) of the person selecting the pieces for the show. Often the artist-juror works in the same medium or in a similar conceptual framework, so looking at his/her art in the context of the exhibition can be enlightening. Again, this person is not a curator. So go ahead and be proactive, just don’t use the wrong terminology.

Still the right way to wear a hat.

The role of a curator is not to just select work for an exhibition, but to shape the relationships between the work, the space, and the audience. Curating involves research, studio visits, knowledge of art history and theory, and an understanding of current artistic practices, as well as a host of (probably boring) administrative tasks. Since I’m not a practitioner myself, I asked a few curators what they thought about the idea of “curating” your own work into a show. Jens Hoffmann, curator of the Wattis Institute for Contemporary Art said, “It is great that someone who is an artist is organizing an exhibition without waiting for a gallery or curator to come along…If the work however is not of a certainly quality and the idea of organizing the show is just created so the organizer/artist can have his work be seen with the work of other (better) artists, it just becomes a farce.” Most other curators I asked simply said, “Don’t.”

To the aspiring artist/curators out there, I ask: if you are truly curating a show, what reason do you have to include your own work? Is it because you want to to pad your resume? Or do you want to get your work out into the world? If it’s the latter (let’s not even discuss the former), it would be more productive in the long run to find a space for your own artwork. Put your energy toward making contacts, writing proposals, or renting one of the ubiquitous vacant storefronts in your area for a solo show. Clarify and concentrate your goals…if for no other reason than because working with other artists can be a complete nightmare (see question #1).