I’ve been meeting with a commercial gallery in my city for some time, and they’ve extended me an offer to come aboard. I’m excited about the idea of professional representation, having a platform to promote myself to a larger audience, and further opportunity for sale of work. I feel strongly about some of the work the gallery represents, but some of it is totally not my style, which is to say, artwork that favors more commercially viable subject matter or style at the cost of exercising any real dynamic or conceptual verve. How much should this influence my decision to join the gallery? I think deep down I’m afraid my work may be negatively evaluated against some of this work in question, and will affect my just-budding career moving forward. How crucial is it that a potential gallery fully affirm your conceptual ideal as an artist?

This is a great question, one which I am definitely not qualified to answer. Accordingly, I sent this query to a half-dozen represented artists and below are the replies I received.

Despite the fact that these artists are speaking from viewpoints all along the career continuum, their answers overlap considerably. They range from mid-career artists with New York and international representation plus several important museum shows, all the way to an artist in a second-tier city who has been represented for less than a year. I vowed to protect the identities of these artists in exchange for their candid replies, but I would like to thank them here for their thoughtful contributions.

-BG

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Lothar Hempel, installation view of “Cafe Kaputt” at Gio Marconi Gallery, 2009

This is a legitimate concern, but it’s only one among a number of questions an artist should consider when deciding to work with a gallery. It’s certainly important to feel as though your work and the gallery’s program are in sync, but that consideration exists in a nexus with other issues of equal or greater importance. First and foremost among these might be, do you like and respect the people running the gallery? Do you trust them, feel that they understand your work, and that they are both interested in and capable of promoting it in a way that will advance your career? Do you feel that they understand the business, and have done well for the other artists that they represent? Do you know any of those artists, or talked with them about how they feel their career is doing? Remember that you are entering into a business partnership with these people, possibly for an extended period of time. Do you have a clear sense of what your expectations and theirs are regarding this relationship?

Bear in mind that it’s generally unlikely that you will love all the gallery’s artists. If you like/respect/are excited by at least half the artists represented, that’s probably the best ratio you can hope for. A gallery is essentially a retail store, selling a very rarefied product to a capricious clientele. If the owners of the gallery make all their money solely from the gallery’s sales (as opposed to coming from a lot of money, or generating the bulk of their income from selling on the secondary market) they will almost certainly have to diversify their inventory, especially if they are based in a city without a strong collector base. While it is to be hoped (and should be expected) that a gallery “stands behind” every artist that they represent equally, the reality is also that there are some artists a gallery works with not because the work is especially cutting edge, but because the owners know they can move it and thereby pay their bills. (If you want a window into what this looks like, try watching the movie “Untitled,” which, while far from great, depicts some of these interior art world mechanisms at work). In other words, the presence of some artists will lend credibility and “edginess” to a gallery’s roster, while others may make sure the rent gets paid.

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Pay attention to how conceptually aware and involved the gallerists are. If they seem to be supportive of your practice and any risks you might take with your work, that could trump what other more commercial work they might represent to keep the lights on. However, if you feel that they could stifle your drive, or set limits to your work, or get in the way of what makes your art something you feel is conceptually brave and forward thinking, then you should re-evaluate the agreement and possibly very cordially end the conversation. It’s good to see these opportunities as steps toward something greater, and if you are given free reign and a platform of exposure, it could be very beneficial down the road. It is smart to be mindful of these decisions though, because if you find yourself hemmed in and next to work you don’t respect, that can only lead to artistic and professional frustration.

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Lothar Hempel, installation view of “Cafe Kaputt” at Gio Marconi Gallery, 2009

This topic has confronted me before—in general it’s a pretty common discussion amongst artists with commercial representation. Generally, galleries have to maintain a roster of artists that differ from each other in order to cater to a range of potential clients. So some artists on the roster may be considered more “commercial” or easily sold than others, or the artists may appear to be diverse and not necessarily relating to each other. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing—I’ve had several gallerists tell me that some of the artists they represent are considered the “bread and butter” ones—the ones that sell well and thus support the ability to show or represent the other artists who are less commercially viable but whose work the gallery wants to support for other reasons. Overall, you just want to make sure that the gallery you work with has a taste that you resonate with in general and that if push comes to shove, they can speak about your work in an enthusiastic way without you having to be there. Perhaps not all the artists in the roster are to your liking, but that is a common situation. If you think the gallery has BAD taste however, then by all means run in the opposite direction.

I have left a gallery before that I felt was not in line with my work, and it took a while to come to that decision because it was a very respectable blue-chip gallery. But in the end I wanted to work with a smaller, perhaps scrappier gallery because I felt their roster better reflected my own concerns of politics and social issues. There are definitely artists in the current gallery’s roster that I don’t care for, but I let that go because I know [the owner] works hard for me and represents me well.

I suggest that artists resolve this issue for themselves by asking several questions:

-Does the gallery you are considering seem to thoughtfully pick their roster of artists, or is it a hit-or-miss affair?

-Can the gallery understand what your work is about and represent it lucidly?

-Can you identify what the gallery’s “taste” is, and understand why they choose their artists?

-Will you cringe or feel embarrassed when asked who your gallery is?

-Do the other artists appear so “left field” that your peers will wonder why you are showing with them?

-Will it confuse clients as to why you are with that gallery?

-Do you feel comfortable showing up to the openings of the other gallery artists to support them and the gallery?

If this is all too much and you don’t feel enthusiastic, then it is best to wait for better representation to come along. If you are working hard and making good work, this is not your only shot at working with a gallery.

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Your work should actually not be similar in style to other artists showing with the gallery. The worst thing is a gallery that only shows one style. Good galleries will select a range of work, so that each artist’s practice speaks to a different potential audience. This is a common misconception among emerging artists, because you think that if you like the work at a given gallery, then that is where you should show. But again, better galleries will not choose two of the same, or similar thing. So chances are that if you like an artist they show because their work has a lot in common with yours, then that is probably not the right gallery for you.

Everyone has cold feet before joining their first gallery, because you know it will affect the way your work is framed and viewed and usually you are entrusting your work to someone you are just getting to know. It may be a gallery that is emerging, like you, and hasn’t been tested yet. It is only natural to be concerned with the reputation of the gallery, and that is wise. If the work is really poor, then you do have to consider whether you want to associate yourself with it, or that dealer. In fact it is more important to feel comfortable with the dealer one-on-one than to be buddy-buddy with the other artists. Do you trust the dealer? Do you like the way they speak about your work to others?

Every gallery has some artists that make money and others that earn street cred. Don’t worry if you are not the moneymaker in the bunch, and be thankful for those who are because they keep the gallery afloat and that includes you. Galleries do not generally have the money and power we assume they have. They are fragile institutions, and dealers work extremely hard under a lot of pressure. Never reveal to a dealer that you are not keen on the other artists they show. That is a real faux pas that could get you dropped from the gallery. Essentially it is none of your business, and if the dealer likes your work, why would you question their taste level?

If you believe in the gallerist as a solid, smart person with good business sense, then go with your gut and build your relationship. The artists they show who are not as good may eventually drop off, and better artists will be taken on. If you really feel in your gut that this is not the right fit, then it is worth it to wait. But if you pass up too many opportunities waiting for a better gallery to come along, it may not happen. Don’t be too picky or you might miss the boat. If your career takes off, and you are unhappy, you can leave the gallery and be picked up by someone else. It happens all the time. It may feel like a gamble, and it totally is. At some level you have to accept that you only have so much control and the rest is really out of your hands.

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Lothar Hempel, installation view of “Cafe Kaputt” at Gio Marconi Gallery, 2009

I love this question, but it is a bit complex. Right off the bat, I stumble over words like “commercially viable” and “conceptual verve.” Surely we have all encountered commercially viable work that has conceptual guts and intellectual rigor. So in order for this question to find an answer, I think we have to make some assumptions that this kind of pejorative delineation is common.

I enjoy a gallery that knows itself and can express itself as an idea or an ethic. Through months and years of exhibiting works and cultivating an audience, the gallery represents its characteristics as if it were a person. We recognize the gallery as intelligent, occasionally sly and provoking, has a sense of humor, etc. This is often at the hand of the gallery’s owner. The gallery should reflect the owner.

Any artist would be fortunate to be in the hands of a gallery whose ethic is transparent.  In other words, you and your work reflect those ethics, and in turn you are with the gallery because you fortify and enhance the characteristics of the gallery. And honestly, I think any great gallery makes very few exceptions in the presentation of its character. Despite the viable or conceptual differences between gallery artists, if there is an ethic that binds you together you should be in good shape. If that ethic is not there, I would think twice.

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And finally, in the interest of representing all possible ways to confront this dilemma, I include this dispatch from the kingdom of I Got Mine:

I honestly don’t have much to say about professional development issues of artists. I think artists should concentrate on their work and not spend all this energy on career strategy. Strong work will find its proper context over time. If your reader is courted by top-level New York galleries then her decision would carry some weight. In most other cases I think the whole issue is not so important.

Your counselor, hard at work.

Like two other artists that wrote in [see Help Desk: Location, Location, Location], I also live in a part of the country that doesn’t have the strongest art market. I get to show locally a few times a year and the artistic community, made up of locals and university members, can be creatively stimulating, engaging and supportive. It’s a great place to make art, but a not-so-great place to sell art.

My question is, what value do you see in “alternative” exhibition spaces, both digital and physical (Saatchi Online, White Columns Artist Registry, and New American Paintings as a few examples), for being legitimate avenues that lead to show opportunities at galleries in metropolitan art centers? Can having a strong online presence be enough to catch the attention of curators and galleries that already have a line of hopefuls at their street address?

Acceptance to an artist registry or a curated publication holds the promise of getting your artwork in front of people who are interested in exhibiting, selling or buying it. But does it really work like that? Are there success stories? What are the pitfalls? I asked around to find some answers.

Mamma Andersson, Heimat Land, 2004. Oil on canvas, 31 1/2 x 110 1/4 inches

One artist I spoke with was initially very excited to have his work included in the White Columns Artist Registry. However, he told me that in the few years that have passed since his acceptance, the only result has been an increase in the amount of junk mail he receives. He does still take the time to update his page, but assumes at this point that nothing will come of it. Another artist whose work was accepted for a New American Paintings catalog a couple of years ago told me that it “did not pan out into anything.”

One of the first adopters of Saatchi Online said of the registry, “I don’t think it hurts – but I cannot say it has helped yet. I did receive a query…and they may have found me on Saatchi, but nothing has come of that yet. Otherwise it is such a mixed bag there – most of the artists are not that developed… [but] they do find serious curators for their Showdowns.” She added, “To be frank, nothing is as good as your own website – and this goes for Blogger, Tumblr and the million other ways you can expose your work.”

Mamma Andersson, How Green Was My Valley, 2003. Oil on panel, 122 x 152 cm

Granted, these are the accounts of only three random artists among thousands, so it’s hard to say if theirs is the experience of the majority or not. I’d like to believe that the registries are helpful–readers, please note that Saatchi Online was where I found the collages of Irina and Silviu Székely, featured in this column a few weeks ago–but the last part of your question acknowledges the necessity of actually being physically present, at least sometimes, in order to be on a gallerist’s or curator’s radar.

There are no certainties in this game we play. By all means, I think that providing one more place for gallerists and dealers to find your work could prove helpful to your objective of selling. But don’t let the energy you’re putting into an online presence take away from the time you spend connecting to people in real life. The glib phrase “it’s who you know” is not quite accurate—you could be on a first name basis with the pope and it won’t make your work any better—but it’s not entirely inaccurate either. If you do pursue and get your work into these registries, see if you can use that as a very deliberate stepping stone to a face-to-face meeting with a gallery you’ve had your eye on.

Mamma Andersson, Pigeon House, 2010. Acrylic and oil on panel, 33 1/2 x 48 inches

I’m an artist without an art school background. I’ve made art my whole life but only for me personally, until the last few years, when I began to devote much more of my time to it and to put it out in juried shows and other exhibitions. I’ve had some serious encouragement with a few large sales and two solo shows (one in a high quality art venue, one in a public space) in the four years since I changed course. I remain self-employed in my “day job” which is tangentially related to the art I make in that I carry themes over from one realm to the other. My question is about how to portray myself to galleries as I reach out to them. I want to be honest about my background but I am realistic enough to know that there are some prejudices against those who come later and roundabout to artmaking. I want to emphasize that I am extremely serious about it and hope to make a complete switch if at all possible.

I think you should portray yourself honestly: you have been making art your whole life and have recently produced some bodies of work that have been successful in the marketplace. In terms of gallerists and dealers, why would any other information be germane to the matter at hand? Do I need to know if my dentist has an undergraduate degree in modern dance, or do I want to know if she is experienced, licensed and insured? Capisce? No one (at least no one you’re going to care about) will give a damn about art school if your work is strong and interesting, you present yourself well and have a good statement.

Mamma Andersson, Filly, 2010. Acrylic and oil on panel, 33 x 48 inches

It would be silly to pretend that there are not all sorts of prejudices in the art world. On one hand I would never suggest that anyone lie about their background, and on the other I detest those cloying self-taught/self-made/”pulled myself up by my bootstraps” stories that sometimes pass for artists statements. Your lack of an art degree should be neither a shame nor a source of pride but a simple fact, one among many. To some people it can matter if you have an MFA or not, are old or young; black or white or Hispanic; male or female, etc. But the people who might have a problem with your age, background or apparent lack of pedigree are not the people you want to work with. Why? Because these people will not help you on your way, they will not sell your work, and they will not bolster your confidence when you are down. You will not enjoy their company or their version of what passes for wisdom. Leave these people alone because they will definitely be toxic for your studio practice and quite possibly for your career.

Are you reading some of the art-career books out there? I highly recommend that you peruse the shelf at your local bookstore. Many of these publications will lay out the specifics of how to talk about your work and your evolution as an artist without sounding defensive or smug. The way to emphasize your seriousness about art is to keep a regular studio practice, invest in your materials and development, and present the best work you have at all times. Good luck!

Your counselor, hard at work.

My question has to do with getting back into the swing. I am a painter/installation artist who showed frequently for a few years after grad school with a small amount of critical notice whose opportunities dried up quickly. My work changes form frequently, and I have really been out of the loop for about five years now. I have been making work with regularity but have not attempted to “get back out there.” My show opportunities had always followed a this-begets-that path and now I have little idea of how/who to approach in order to try and show again. Any advice?

This is a good question, one that in many ways gets to the heart of what it means to choose art as a profession. The reason that art is not for the timid is because your work can be put on hold for any number of reasons and your general career trajectory is not likely to be an ever-increasing incline but a squiggle of ups and downs. It’s like a board game played out over the duration of your life: good review? Go forward one square. Studio building for sale? Pick a card. Sold out show? Advance to an institutional-gallery catalog. Had a baby? Wait two turns. It’s important to remember that the winner is the one who keeps plugging along, believing in what she does.

This week’s patron saint is Carl Jung, who claimed that certain images can have psychological effects.

But back the advice part: the first thing I want you to do is to go through your old CV and make a list of anyone who you’ve met who has been supportive. This includes old teachers or mentors, dealers who’ve sold your work and gallerists who put your paintings in group shows, critics that included you in favorable reviews, etc. Write down absolutely everyone you can think of, line by line, and then go back over the list and put a star next to anyone who was friendly and approachable. Next, write a nice email to the first ten of these starred people. Be honest. Say you’re getting back in touch because you’ve been out of the loop for a while and you’re ready to dive back in. Explain that you’ve been working the whole time, but not showing your work, and you’d like to get some feedback. If it’s an old mentor you’re writing to, express how valuable their help has been in the past. If it’s a gallerist you’re writing to, remind them of the date and title of the show you were in at their gallery and thank them again for their prior support. Include a link to your newest work on your website. Ask them to come for studio visits. In the studio, if they seem engaged and receptive, ask if they can think of a place that might be interested in showing the work.

If you don’t have a good list of prior contacts, start researching the local galleries, nonprofits and alternative spaces. You can look online at their past and current shows and/or the work of the artists they represent to see if your work might be a good fit. Take a trip to the gallery in person, look at the work and the prices and see if your work is a match. Call to see if they accept submissions if that information isn’t on their website. Most galleries don’t look at unsolicited submissions anymore, so perhaps this isn’t your best way back into the fray, but you will find some that are open to new artists and your research on the others will put you in a good position when you do start getting your work out there again.

Another option is to start browsing the call-for-entries listings, like the ones that the College Art Association and re-title.com post. A note of caution here: juried shows fall under the “caveat emptor” part of life. Look at websites, google the juror(s), and set a budget for entry fees and then stick to it. Only apply to juried shows that really fit your work. Obviously, if the title of the show is “The Art of the Teapot” don’t bet that they’ll take one of your paintings–but they will take your $35, so due diligence applies here.

All of these strategies in concert should give you a bit of a psychological lift, and sometimes it’s just a matter of pushing the ball to get it rolling again. Good luck!

I am a mid-career artist that needs a jump start. What suggestions might you have for me?

Unless you’re in the position of Glenn Ligon, mid-career might feel like the mid-winter of the mind: you made it through summer and fall, but will it ever be spring again? Our recent unseasonable weather notwithstanding, robins and willow buds seem a long way off.

You might feel like you need an epiphany, a ray of sunshine like a column of creative energy beaming straight from heaven into your hypothalamus. And you are poised to have one, but first you have to bear with my purple metaphors and hippy advice.

Start by priming your subconscious. You can take the long walks/hot baths/bottle-of-wine approach, or you can do what I do and watch a lot of British crime dramas on Netflix for three days. Either way, give yourself three days to do whatever it is you’re going to do and don’t do anything else. Why three? Because everything good comes in threes. If you’re going to start mucking around in your subconscious then everything you do must support the idea that you are moving toward an end result that you will find satisfying.

Next, get out the old pencil and paper, and make a list of everything you love in art. I mean really love, not just “like” on Facebook. This list can be embarrassing or grandiose or fairly inarticulate and muddy, but it doesn’t matter because you don’t have to show it to anyone. Then make a list of your goals. What do you want to happen next in your career? From the banal (revamp website) to the ambitious (a retrospective at LACMA), write it down, and then write down the steps that it will take for you to accomplish each one.

At mid-career, you’ve built yourself an imaginative empire, a Disneyland of the mind. To you it might feel like another boring trip around the ‘hood, but to the rest of us it’s a wonderland. Try to see your ideas with fresh eyes. Dig out and dust off your old sketchbooks going back at least three years, make yourself a cup of coffee, and read through them. Think about the work that you made as a result of these notes, and also the work that you didn’t make. What were you thinking about at the time, and where did that thinking lead? Are there themes that came up over and over? What did you jot down and then abandon, and why? Were there materials that you wanted to experiment with but never had the time? You might want to dog-ear some pages, or copy some old writings into your new sketchbook for safekeeping. Make a note of anything that still resonates.

Now for the hard part: don’t force it, but for heaven’s sake don’t go back to the television, either. If your “what’s next” epiphany hasn’t come yet, or if it’s the kind that starts quietly before building to a crescendo, go back into the studio and at least tidy up. You need to put your hands on your tools, and you need to be ready to work. If there’s something off your list of goals that you can put in motion, then pick up the phone or send that email. Then start dealing with some of those ideas from the old sketchbooks. Look at the list of things you love in art and see where the two overlap. It may not feel like it right now, but to quote from Raising Arizona, you’re in the “fabled catbird seat.” You have a developed body of work behind you, a lot of hard-earned wisdom, and probably some very useful contacts. Go in the studio and hit the steel with the flint. Before you know it the whole place will be on fire.

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).