What are the ethics around a critic collecting art? I want to write a review of a dazzling painting show. While I can’t afford one of the paintings, I would like to buy one of the artist’s works on paper. Is there an ethical problem of covering this show and buying a piece not in the show—as long as I don’t write about the artist in the future? 

On Kawara. Paris–New York Drawing No. 144, 1964; graphite and colored pencil on paper, perforated top edge, 4 9/16 x 18 1/16 in. Photo: David Zwirner, New York/London.

I once walked into an exhibition and fell in love. The artist had restaged her childhood photographs with her adult body; the two images were framed side-by-side and titled with the hand-written captions from the original photo’s verso. At the time, I was examining my own identity and progress through life, and these images resonated on that same wavelength. They were priced at $600, which was the outer limit of what I could afford, and I made a quick calculation: I could buy one, or I could write a review. The former would give me a single possession that I might enjoy for my whole life; the latter would allow me to consider the entire suite of works and support the artist in a different (but no less tangible) way. In the end, I chose to review the show.

Undoubtedly there is a range of opinions on this subject; the field of art often appears to be a mucky marsh of ethical gray area. But to me, reviewing an artist when you own a piece of their work is unethical, even if that particular work is not in the show that you’re writing about. Exhibition reviews have the power to raise the social and economic value of an artist’s oeuvre, and if you own work by that artist you are—even inadvertently—raising the value of your own collection.

As usual, I asked around to see what others thought. Jen Graves, the visual arts writer at The Stranger, immediately sprang to mind; in 2007 she published an article that indicted critic Matthew Kangas for impropriety and conflict of interest. In that article, she wrote, “The emphasis on reporting instead of criticism, or in addition to criticism, has dragged critics into the same spotlight reporters work under, where lapses of judgment are firing offenses. Today, being embedded is looked at with suspicion, and being detached is more in vogue. Each position certainly has its merits. But the industry is still struggling to combine the two approaches in a way that keeps critics passionate, engaged, and knowledgeable, without allowing their biases to be, or to appear to be, personal or financial.”

Nine years later, I knew Graves would have more thoughts on the matter, and here’s what she has to say now: “The ethics around a critic collecting art aren’t particularly clear but the stakes are fairly obvious. Here’s what I do: I own very few works of art. I have two rules: I never sell anything (and wouldn’t want my children, grandchildren, etc. doing it, either). And I never broker with artists myself. I either buy from a listed price, or if a price is not listed on an artist’s website, say, I have someone else inquire about the price for me. I never want to get a deal, is what that’s about. I guess the whole point is that you don’t want to inflate the prices of an artist by writing about the work in order to turn a profit from your supposedly non-financially-interested opinion. I don’t steer clear entirely of collecting. But I am pretty wary.”

I also wanted to talk to Victoria Camblin, editor and artistic director of Art Papers, a magazine that (like this one) has an explicit conflict of interest policy. Camblin had some good advice about how to think through this issue:

“There are (or should be) policies in place at any art magazine, and the editorial staff there will have a clear answer as to what theirs are—so this is first and foremost a question of disclosure: communicate with your editors honestly about your relationship to the artist and/or gallery.

“As an editor, after a while you develop an internal ethical monitor. If something feels unsavory, you don’t go forward until you have found an approach that feels right.

“Artists, writers, collectors, and curators all work together in a highly collaborative professional community; often, one individual occupies several of these industry roles. Conflict-of-interest policies are important, but mustn’t stifle the work that might emerge from the intimacies of these connections. There are some creative and ethical ways that editors and writers can harness these relationships, nuancing and unpacking them by diversifying content styles, for instance, and thus building a disclosure into the final product. (A personal essay about why you were moved by the work enough to collect it, or how it has influenced your output as a writer, might not be a good fit for every art magazine, but may well find an appropriate niche outside of a ‘reviews’ section.)

“If you and your editor cannot find a way of editorializing this that works, then you cannot force it; you have to kill the piece. But you can write to your editor and suggest that they find a colleague to cover the fabulous show. If it’s a good fit for the publication, chances are the editor will have another writer for the job, or will be open to solid suggestions from you once you explain your relationship to the work.”

In the end, if you’re wrestling with the question, I’d say your instincts are good. Perceived conflict is as important as a real conflict, so bear in mind how your relationship to artists and/or their work will appear to your readers. Put your faith in truthful disclosure, and when in doubt, ask your editor. Don’t be afraid to walk away from a review—or to refrain from buying a work; your future credibility is more important than what’s hanging on your walls. Good luck!

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.