When Julie Henson and Seth Curcio invited me to write for Daily Serving in 2009, I never imagined that one day this international community of artists and writers would be entrusted to my care. Over the last seven years—first as an occasional contributor, then columnist, then managing editor, and finally as editor in chief—I have been incredibly fortunate to be a part of Daily Serving’s growth and development. Now I am eager to concentrate on my own artistic and writing practices, and thus am stepping down from my current role.

Our writers, editors, and admins—too many to name here—deserve my unending thanks for helping to shape a publication that amplifies regional creative practices. Daily Serving’s exhibition reviews bring attention to art production in both well-known and underserved regions; our open-submission Fan Mail column highlights emerging artists; Help Desk is a guide to the often convoluted workings of the arts; Shotgun Reviews allow anyone, anywhere in the world, to publish an exhibition review—no pedigree required; and #Hashtags (soon to be a book) focuses on the work of artists from traditionally underrepresented communities. Additionally, our new Arts Publishing Residency, the first iteration of which is just wrapping up, provides one more way to welcome new voices to publishing. Through these programs, we support a broad community of arts workers.

We have a lot to be proud of, and it would be remiss of me to fail to mention in particular the way in which our current team has shaped Daily Serving to reflect progressive values and concerns of equity and representation. We track the articles that we publish, and between September 6, 2016, and June 2, 2017, we published 192 original articles; 62% of our features presented artwork by, or highlighted the voices of, diverse arts workers and people of color. We value the contributions of diverse perspectives and recognize our role in actively responding to the dynamic arts community by creating space.

Since May 2013, when Patricia Maloney purchased Daily Serving to be a sister site to Art Practical, we on the administrative team have discussed amalgamating the two sites in order to eliminate redundancies. Over the last four and a half years, Kara Q. Smith, the editor in chief of Art Practical, and I have experimented with the location, timing, and format of the articles that appear on the two sites, each year tweaking the arrangement to see what suits our audiences best. This tinkering only strengthened our resolve to combine the best of both publications into one, and beginning in October, Daily Serving’s columns and West Coast reviews will be published on Art Practical (the current site will remain as an archive). Our stalwart editors and copyeditor will also transition to Art Practical; and in order to give this combined publication a new vision, Daily Serving’s current senior editor, Vivian Sming, will become the new editor in chief. I have enormous confidence in Vivian’s leadership abilities. She will bring innovation and a fresh perspective to this enterprise, while maintaining Daily Serving’s vision for an equitable and accessible art world.

I’m reminded of the words of author Susie Hinton—she of The Outsiders fame—who said, “How a piece ends is very important to me. […] I love to write ending lines; usually, I know them first and write toward them.” None of us involved in the nearly eleven-year history of Daily Serving knew how or when it would end—we only knew we were working toward a sum that was greater than its parts. Now that we have created a successful model, it’s time for a fresh challenge. I hope you will join me in being part of Art Practical’s readership this October, when Vivian and the Daily Serving/Art Practical team unveil the next iteration of trustworthy and brave critical arts discourse.

Jonathan Griffin. On Fire, 2016. Courtesy of Paper Monument.

Jonathan Griffin wants to make us all voyeurs. Or, at the very least, rubberneckers. Though he narrates his text with taste and sensitivity, it’s difficult to fully avoid a degree of morbid fascination with the stories On Fire tells, a fascination perhaps inherent in the subject. The book recounts the evolution of the artistic practice of ten artists who’ve experienced arguably the most devastating event an artist can face: the destruction, by fire, of their studio and the art housed within.

Read the full review here.

Gabriela Golder and Mariela Yeregui. Escrituras, 2014-2016; neon installation; variable dimensions. Photo: Alejandro Lipszyc

Tania Puente: How did you become interested in developing Escrituras?

Gabriela Golder: This project was selected from an open call for site-specific artistic projects that the city government organized. Part of the rules were to think of a neighborhood we’d like to intervene, and one of the given options was La Boca. We chose it because there’s a rising tension right now in this area, between the real estate development and the longstanding inhabitants of the neighborhood. Apart from economic issues, there’s also an identity struggle between its residents. Every group in the neighborhood tries to constantly reaffirm its own identity, instead of recognizing themselves as part of a wider community. In historical terms, La Boca is a neighborhood born from Italian immigration. Nowadays, there is a different kind of immigration, mostly from the bordering countries—a more marginalized population.

In looking at this overall picture, we thought La Boca would be a very interesting place to find interstices to get into and to start working with those who inhabit this place. A public space installation necessarily has to consider and be developed with others. If it is not done this way, it becomes an imposition.

TP: What was your approach towards this context?

GG: To begin with, we had to start understanding this particular urban tissue. One of our main questions was how to look at La Boca. This neighborhood carries a big cliché regarding its touristic activity while, at the same time, being considered one of Buenos Aires’ most dangerous neighborhoods. How could we escape those preconceived ideas? In order to understand it, we discovered we needed a new map—one that could be traced through a series of workshops.

Gabriela Golder. Photo: Gelen Márquez

TP: What did those workshops consist of?

GG: We designed four workshops in which artists from different disciplines developed activities around a renewed understanding of this space. Everyone could join these workshops, whether or not they lived in La Boca. One of these sessions was dedicated to the sounds of the neighborhood. With small recorders, the assistants would register the sound landscape, such as the water running in the sewers, the noise from the soccer field, and the sirens. Because of the loud noises that came from the stadium, many houses have gigantic cracks in their walls. The second workshop consisted in thinking about how to become invisible in this given space. This idea had to do with how these inhabitants are ignored most of the time to privilege a touristic approach of the zone.[1] A third workshop focused on the writings on the walls, and how passers-by “read” this area. The last workshop aimed for a visual intervention. Each participant was given some sort of cartographer’s kit, with pencils, a notebook, and colors. They recreated the space, noting cracks, holes, and small details that were never repaired, in order to write down and trace a broader image of these streets.

After each workshop, all the participants would gather and write their impressions on Post-its, which would be later posted on a map. We made a first selection of the strongest phrases with all the neighbors, and afterwards, we cut it down to restrain the number of characters.

Gabriela Golder and Mariela Yeregui. Escrituras, 2014-2016; neon installation; dimensions variable. Photo: Alejandro Lipszyc

TP: Do the signs follow a specific order?

GG: We wanted to interweave a narrative. The main sentence is El terreno se vuelve a mover [The ground is moving again], located on the highway, and from there, the other messages radiate. Nevertheless, one can read just a single phrase and still try to decipher a random narrative. Despite our poetic interest, we faced many problems regarding the places where the signs were going to be installed. We had to talk to the neighbors and explain to them that these signs weren’t selling anything—they were just pointing at some thoughts. There’s a huge responsibility in fostering a thought. The residents questioned the signs’ functionality. Some of them really wanted the signs on their facades, so they would light up that part of the street. Because of the electricity, this is a very fragile project. Anyone can cut the power source. We are thinking of ways to make it less vulnerable.

Gabriela Golder and Mariela Yeregui. Escrituras, 2014-2016; neon installation; dimensions variable. Photo: Alejandro Lipszyc

TP: The locations of the pieces are relevant, as this is a project with a clear cartographical intention. Despite not being about identifying specific places, the project indicates the community’s intersubjectivity.

GG: That is correct. We cannot deny the implicit power discourse this territory possesses in terms of the official history, where, from the clichéd perspective, locals aren’t considered in what is indicated. How can we think of this place beyond the official discourse? Museums and tourist spots are indicated, but what about the drugstore or the mechanical workshop? Do these places still count? With this counter-signage project, we are tracing a different map—one that distances away from the official discourse. 

TP: In going through all the files uploaded onto the project’s website, I was thinking that this piece has become an intersubjective neighborhood archive—one that implies an individual stare that simultaneously turns into a collective in front of the public eye.

GG: There are many pictures where you see different hands writing: each one of them is a hand from a body that is rewriting its own place. At the same time, this process is collective because those appraisals were gathered in collective drifts. It’s all about discovering the same place together from an individual point of view.

Gabriela Golder and Mariela Yeregui. Escrituras, 2014-2016; neon installation; variable dimensions. Photo: Alejandro Lipszyc

TP: As well as remembering…

GG: Yes, just like the cracks on the walls, the peculiarities of each street, the plants that start growing in the interstices, these are the signs that provide evidence on how time passes by. The way we look at things and spaces can turn repetitive—we stop noticing small changes. But our main aim is to look at this place intensely, to shake the context, and to be able to forge an individual stare—one that has the ability to be interwoven with other stares and that constantly reflects the past, in private history and life.

Escrituras: un proyecto de contraseñalética urbana will be on view through May 2017.

[1] Apart from being famous for its soccer team, La Boca shelters Caminito, a pintoresque street with colorful houses and local souvenirs. It is one of the main tourist attractions in Buenos Aires.

Susan O’Malley. Less Internet More Love, from the series Advice From My 80-Year-Old Self, 2015; mural at Bob McGee’s Machining Co., Inc., 2735 San Pablo Ave, Berkeley. Courtesy of Kala Art Institute. Photo: Bob McGee’s Machining Co., Inc.

The medium of print has a long history of expanding art into the public realm, and Print Public at Kala Art Institute has boldly pushed the envelope of the role of print in the urban context via a highly inventive series of public workshops and interactions that led up to the current gallery presentation. Kala presents this project not only as a gallery show but as a long-term collaboration with its neighbors and UC Berkeley: “Print Public was conceived in collaboration with the University of California, Berkeley’s Department of City & Regional Planning as an arts-integrated approach to urban planning and community activation.” Because the project was developed and elaborated over a two-year period, the involved artists had ample opportunity to design innovative ways to integrate the local community into their projects. Most devised a public dimension designed to bring attention and visitors to West Berkeley, where Kala is located, and then collaborated with residents to produce interactive, or at least locally informed, works. The exhibition organizers call this a “place-making initiative.” Such terminology can have many meanings, but the intent in this case was for the assets of the neighborhood to be explored by the artists and then reflected back to give residents a sense of their own community. Perhaps it is not so much place making as place finding.

Read the full article here.

I’m a new arts administrator, and I live in [a mid-size city]. Through my four years of art school here and my job, I know many artists who live in this city. I started writing art reviews last year, and all of a sudden I’m feeling pressure to write about my friends’ work. It’s not like they are asking me directly, but hints have been dropped. I have no problem reviewing work that I think is good, but the problem is that there are some people who I like very much, but I don’t think their work is that great. How do I get out of reviewing the work that I don’t like without losing my friends?

Ken Price. Liquid Rock, 2004; acrylic and ink on paper; 17 3⁄4 x 13 7/8 in. Courtesy of Matthew Marks Gallery

This is a sticky situation indeed. You want to write about the artwork that you enjoy, but you also want to support the people you love; unfortunately, sometimes there’s not much overlap between these two groups in the big Venn Diagram of Life. Let’s review some of the ways you can negotiate this minefield without blowing up your friendships.

First, there’s the “it’s out of my hands” tactic, which is my personal favorite because someone else gets to play Bad Cop. If you’re publishing reviews, you ought to see if there’s an editorial policy already in place at the blog/newspaper/magazine(s) with whom you are working. The policy will spell out what you’re allowed to write about and what you’re not, and if you haven’t been presented with one yet, it can’t hurt to ask. Many editorial policies state that a writer cannot review the work of an artist with whom she has a personal relationship. Admittedly, this kind of thing is a double-edged sword: It removes all responsibility for not being able to review friends’ bad exhibitions, but it also eliminates the possibility of reviewing friends’ work that is good. The important thing is that your hands are tied; in either case, all you have to do is shrug and say, “It’s too bad I can’t write about this show.” End of story.

On a related note, you may also have some easy outs due to your job as an arts administrator. For example, if you work for a granting institution, you might not be able to review shows that were made by artists receiving funding from your institution. Once again, check with the higher-ups at your place of employment to see if they have any guidelines (tacit or explicit) that they expect you to follow. Obviously, if you work in a gallery or museum you can’t review an exhibition there; again, these affiliations take the decision-making power out of your hands.

Depending on how strict the conflict-of-interest policy is, you may not be able to write about work that you do like, so let’s talk about other ways that you can support your artist friends. Probably the most essential way to encourage and sustain your friends is to show up. It’s often difficult to accomplish because, by Thursday night, we’re all tired and busy and coming down with a head cold. Yet the most supportive thing to do is simply be present for openings, performances, screenings, gallery talks, etc. In an age where most artwork is available online, showing up is becoming a profound act. So be present, shake hands, and say congratulations when you can.

Ken Price. Desert Architecture, 2005; drawing.

You can also help spread the word on opportunities like exhibitions, grants, and residencies. As an arts administrator, you probably see calls for entry and applications all the time, and you can post these to your Facebook page or tweet them, or even, if the opportunity seems tailor-made for someone in particular, send an email letting the artist know that you thought of her when you saw it. Again, this is a simple act, but it says, “I see you. I see your work. I want you to do well.” We all need to feel like someone is looking out for us from time to time.

Bear in mind, too, that you not liking a friend’s work doesn’t mean it’s without merit. It’s possible that you can use your writing skills to support your friends in other ways, such as writing a short profile of the artist (very different from passing judgment in a review), or interviewing her about her process. You can also connect like-minded artists to help them expand their support networks or possibly organize workshops through your employer that help artists with career skills. Writing a review may be the most prestigious way to validate an artist’s work, but other strategies may be longer lasting and have more impact on the day-to-day exigencies of an art practice, so don’t discount your ability to help your friends—all of them—while using vehicles other than the coveted review.

Ken Price. Exalted Sanctuary, 2004; giclee print; edition of 75; 36 x 27 in.

And what if there are no guidelines at any of the places where you work or publish your writing, and you can’t foist the decision to write or not to write onto anyone else? Well, perhaps it would be best to set a policy of not reviewing the work of any friends at all. But this can be a very burdensome restriction in a smaller town where everyone knows everyone, so if you can’t or won’t heed this counsel, at minimum you should draw the line at sex and money. Never review the exhibition of someone you are currently sleeping with or have slept with in the past—there are so many ways this could come back to haunt you. Likewise, if you own the artist’s work or have a financial relationship with the gallery, don’t write about the show; this is a classic case of conflict, and even if your intentions are good, it will make you look bad. Whatever else you do, don’t put your own credibility on the line.

Saying this, I admit that some people will never be happy with your decision, and at some point “friends” may drift out of your life when they don’t get what they want from you. Let them. I may sound like your mom, but the old chestnut about those people not being your real friends anyway certainly holds true here. You need never defend yourself or apologize for not reviewing a show, no matter what your relationships are to the artist or the gallery. If you’re working with integrity and helping artists in ways that show you appreciate their endeavors, then your real friends will have nothing but respect for you. Good luck!

Help Desk is an arts-advice column that demystifies practices for artists, writers, curators, collectors, patrons, and the general public. Submit your questions anonymously here.

Your real estate agent, hard at work.

This week’s column is dedicated to two related questions that I received within hours of each other but from different parts of the country:

I’ve been painting diligently for 12 years, yet I live far from a significant art market. My thoughts are returning to California where even a bad economy is better than a great economy where I currently reside. Over the years I’ve developed ways to make a living so I can stay afloat anywhere I go. I’ve sold small paintings consistently where I live but economics have dictated a lower price to close the sale. I feel greater exposure is one of the aspects necessary to move me and my work to a different level. Do you think the exposure offered by a much larger city warrants a move and expands the possibilities more than just traveling to the place to show my work? Are bigger cities necessarily better markets and networks? I am not fearful of work, but I’d prefer to work smarter, not harder.

Your question raises quite a few issues about community, the marketplace, and how your surroundings can change your production. For years I lived in a small city that had wonderful opportunities for energetic new artists. Pop-up galleries and alternative spaces abounded so there were plenty of opportunities to show. However, there was no significant culture of arts philanthropy within the county borders, which meant that there were only a few top-tier commercial galleries and no real institutional structure to assist the best of these artists with their careers. Many who saw great success at the lower levels of the hierarchy felt abandoned when they realized that the jot of acknowledgement they’d already received was likely all they would ever see if they stayed in the city. Some translated that into a practice of stasis and were content, in the end, with local acclaim. Many artists left.

But many also stayed in this city, and translated the support they did have into a strong community of artists and thinkers who continually work together to expand the boundaries of their situation. They apply for exhibitions and national-level grants that will bring them attention and funding for their work. They’ve created programs that bring artists from other cities to visit. They also travel to other areas, meet artists and curators, and form lasting relationships that enliven their practices. This group of art workers is bringing the mountain to Mohammed. It’s a lot of hard work, but sometimes the dedication and support they receive from their peers is a reward in and of itself, and over time there have been plenty of other payoffs.

Should you stay or should you go? (image: images.handy.de)

You ask if big cities necessarily have better markets and networks. That depends on what you make. After all, what sells well in one part of the country might be ignored in another. Watercolor portraits that fly out the door of a beach town gallery aren’t going to do well in a conceptually-driven contemporary art market. Your query doesn’t mention your community, but you do say that you’re making consistent sales. That counts for something. While you might not be able to market your work at higher prices locally, the fact that you have an audience for your work shouldn’t be discounted.

Think carefully about your options. Are staying or going really the only choices? If you want to move your work to a different level, can it be done from where you are now? Are there like-minded people you could partner with to make a change in your city? You can’t be the only artist in town who thinks about the opportunities that aren’t available to you. Is it worth banding together and giving it a go? You might create something really wonderful.

I do agree that new experiences in general can be very good for your mental health, and therefore for your work. It’s possible to create that new experience by taking on a leadership role in your hometown. But if you feel that a larger community is really the answer, why not start doing some research before you pull up your stakes? Check out the galleries in the place where you plan to move. Do any sell work that looks like yours? If you find some good matches, it can’t hurt to write the gallerist. Explain that you plan to move to that city and wonder if they might have time to chat with you over a cup of coffee during your next visit to gain some perspective on the area’s art scene. She might have some advice for you that would ease a transition (and the worst you’ll get from such a query is no answer at all).

Before you hitch up the wagon and move to the promise land of California, take stock of what you already have. (image: www.jacksonvilleoregon.org)

I’m not sure I agree with your statement that a larger art market with “a bad economy is better than a great economy where [you] currently reside.” A bad economy will bring other pressures to bear on your life. If it’s hard to find a job, or to get a job that makes a decent wage, that’s going to take time away from your practice. I know quite a few artists who moved to New York and then away again a few years later. Why? Because they spent so much time working at the various jobs that paid their apartment and studio rents that they had no time or energy left over to make any artwork. Above all, protect the time you have in your studio. A move to a city with a larger art scene is no good unless you can make work while you live there.

Which of these options is best for you? I encourage you to keep an open mind. Don’t limit your choices to the most obvious or easy options. It will be up to you to make the most of any change, in whatever form it comes.

(image: www.map-of-usa.co.uk)

I do not live in an arts center/urban area, and my day job and personal art practice keep me so busy that I have very little time to go to any major city to circulate in, much less make overtures to a ‘happening’ gallery scene. I have been building up my exhibition record with shows in the relatively isolated college town in which I live, as well as in regional and national juried shows that I can ship work to. Since my work does not conform to local buyers’ tastes (which lean toward folksy and/or decorative), I am wondering how to go about finding venues for my work that could develop into something a little more stable and rewarding than one-off juried shows.

P.S. Before suggesting that I take advantage of the people and resources at my local university, know that I’m doing that already. The question is how to move beyond that level.

I’m disturbed by the tone of your query. “No, no, no,” it says. “I’ve already thought of that, and it won’t work.” If that’s true, and you have really exhausted every avenue in your local community, then there is only one course of action: you are going to have to change your circumstances drastically.

I’m glad to hear that you have been doing what you can to get your work out into the world. If you want to take the next step, you’re going to have to make some sacrifices. First, recognize that your “personal art practice” involves more than just swiping a brush across a canvas; taking the time to travel and make new connections IS part of an art practice. And if no one is buying your work right now then, frankly, you have the time to deal with the more administrative end of things.

Going to a big city and “circulating” is not the answer, because it is aimless. The trick is to find and court specific art professionals, not whole cities. You have to do some research to find out where your work fits in. Who might be interested in talking with you? Are there gallerists or independent curators who would be a good match for your work? Look at the artists they already have in their stable: are they all working in the same medium, or around the same subjects? Did they all go to the same art schools? Does your work fit? Flinging yourself willy-nilly at galleries is only going to annoy a lot of people and waste your time, so be honest with yourself.

This is just one of the many images you’ll find by googling “conceptually-driven art.” (image: markpowerblog.com, work by Andreas Gursky)

After you do your research, try getting in touch with these folks. If you’re far from these galleries, a studio visit probably isn’t going to happen. But like the querent above, can you buy the gallerist a cup of coffee in order to pick his brain? I’m not suggesting that you write to someone asking him out for a drink, and then beg him to represent your work while standing at the bar; instead, try presenting your portfolio in conjunction with that well-honed list of possible venues. Ask if he also thinks they are a match. What you’re looking for at this meeting is some insight, not a ring and a promise, or even any “overtures.” If all goes well, you’ll know what your next steps are.

Aside from this administrative work, what can you do to lessen the negativity that is surely having an adverse effect on your practice? Is there another artist in town with whom you can band together while you both go through this process of research and reaching out? Having a confidant can relieve a tremendous amount of mental and emotional pressure, and you might find opportunities that you can pass along to each other as you go. Moreover, you will have someone to cheer your successes and commiserate when things don’t go as hoped. It’s important to have stability and rewards outside the gallery system, so put some energy into building support that has nothing to do with solo shows or sales.