Apparently you missed that day in Catholic school when they taught us Matthew 5:15-16: “Neither do men light a candle and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house. Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works.” Notice that this verse doesn’t advise, “Get thine light discovered by cunning means” or “Have another man lighteth thine candle for thee.”

Philippe Parreno with Rirkrit Tiravanija. La Batalla de los Patos, 2013; screenprint, phosphorescent ink; 39.5 x 55.5 in.; edition of 6.

Where are all these imaginary people who have ample time and inclination to discover you? I can’t imagine a single gallerist who, after curating, framing, installing, promoting, and selling a show—in addition to managing a staff, courting new collectors and arts patrons, and maybe even having a home life in the odd moment outside of work—is going to be able to wade through the deep seas of information put out there by artists who are promoting their work, in order to find you. I hope I am making this point clear for artists who sit in their studios hoping to be “discovered”: When you hear the phone not ringing, it will be the galleries not calling.

But you don’t have to take my word for it. I wrote to several arts professionals about being found and they all said the same thing: It doesn’t work like that. One gallerist from Boston said, “I would agree with you on the ‘discovery’ idea. With all the ‘noise’ in our contemporary culture, subtlety when it comes to self-promotion is a losing idea. Years ago, before social media, [another] gallerist told me he had a rule of three: If he heard the same name from three different people, he would check out the work. The more ‘buzz’ around the work, the more attention it is going to get.” A gallerist in San Francisco told me, “I couldn’t agree more. An emerging artist should be doing as much as he/she can to connect with others and find exhibition opportunities. So much can be learned from showing and working with others. This is how an artist builds his/her community within the art world and an important audience for their work. From a marketing or sales perspective, it’s of course far easier for a gallery to work with an artist who has already established a positive reputation.”

Philippe Parreno. No More Reality, Reunion, 2006, 2013; screenprint, printed in phosphorescent ink; 39.5 x 55.5 in; edition of 6.

As for “playing it subtly” and trying to meet the “right people,” those are strategies likely to disappoint unless you already know influential arts professionals who have previously indicated that they are happy to promote your work. Here’s where you need to be honest about your ability to get within shouting distance of whomever these “right people” might be—I’m guessing that you’re not currently rubbing elbows with a bunch of gallerists and collectors who summer in the Hamptons. In the long run it’s better to rely on the quality of your work and your marketing than to try to strong-arm friendships with the mighty. I’d rather see you take a more sensible route, one that will keep you from dying with a note to David Zwirner clutched in your paint-stained hand.

Since your ultimate goal is to get some attention from galleries, you’re going to have to start elsewhere and build up that “buzz” that our friend in Boston is talking about. Have your work photographed by a professional. Make it easy for people to find you by having a website with a good layout and visible contact info. Email a few images and a short press release to online and print publications likely to be interested in your work. Make a Facebook page, a Tumblr, or an Instagram account. Contact the local papers. Sometimes you can get other groups interested—for example, if you paint trains you could send an email to the National Model Railroad Society. Don’t laugh! It’s a somewhat-facetious example, but I do know artists who have made sales and built a buzz on the basis of their work’s subject matter, so brainstorm people and organizations who might connect to what you’re doing. Don’t discount any avenue you have for creating a dialogue around the work.

Philippe Parreno. From November 5th Until They Fell Down, 2013; screenprint, 39.5 x 55.5 in; edition of 6.

While you’re doing all that, line up some studio visits with arts professionals: gallerists, independent curators, even arts writers. Do your homework and figure out who might be interested in your paintings. If you’re not used to doing studio visits, practice by swapping visits with art friends and/or ask a few former professors to come for a short visit so you can “warm up” and be ready for when a gallerist arrives.

In about every third column I find myself flogging the book Art/Work, and the reason is that it’s a tremendously useful resource for artists who want to be on the gallery track. Please buy a copy and read it cover to cover. You will find that it answers many of the questions that are bound to come up after the buzz starts. Get your work out there, and good luck!

Recently I was invited to join an artists’ group that meets about once a month. These meetings have no particular agenda outside of socializing and conversation, and so I didn’t think much of the fact that they seemed to be attended only by men. However, this trend has continued, and it’s beginning to feel as if the gender makeup of the group is a matter of policy rather than happenstance. Additionally, there has been talk of putting together a group exhibition of work with these guys, and I am uncomfortable participating in an art exhibition founded on a group that might be excluding women categorically. Where does one draw the line between social activity and professional activity in the arts? And what responsibility does an artist have to hold his or her social contacts to the same standards as their professional ones? And, lastly, what should I say to these fellows?

Cosima von Bonin. Internationales Wollsekretariat, 2003; wool, cotton, loden; 108.27 x 112.99 in.

Dear Sir, thank you for your question. I’m glad you’re both aware of and uncomfortable with participating in an exclusionary group. Welcome to 2014, where people of all genders can make extraordinary contributions to society! Of course, not everyone has caught on to this revolutionary notion yet, and often the opportunity to address these systematic evils can be found on the small scale, in our own houses—or studios, as the case may be.

To answer your first question, a social group of professional artists is also, by default, a professional group of social artists; good luck finding the exact place where mere entertaining turns into career networking. In many professions, including the arts, social groups are how ideas are generated, work gets made, people are hired, and commodities are sold. The art world runs on the same casual nepotism as many fields, and quite a few folks prefer—unconsciously I’m sure—to work with people that they have met. Your particular social club is organizing an exhibition, and that’s a professional activity, so there’s your answer.

Cosima von Bonin. Guache Caviar, 2003; wool, cotton, loden; 112.2 x 112.2 in.

As for holding your social contacts to the same standards as your professional ones, that can be tricky; it depends on how close the relationship is and how strict you are with your ethics. If this group is like family to you, you might be tempted to forgive flaws that you wouldn’t be willing to overlook in casual acquaintances. Conversely, you might feel more comfortable calling out this behavior in people close to you, because the dynamics of your relationship have already been established. Under either circumstance, you should never participate in an activity that makes you feel uncomfortable, or that would make you feel defensive later. Imagine yourself answering questions from a (female) friend about why there are no women in this group or in the exhibition. What would you tell her? Can it be that these men don’t know any artists who are also women? Will you be comfortable taking responsibility for your complicity?

What you should say to these dudes is very simple: Why aren’t there any women here? If that seems too earnest and direct, try making a joke out of it: Mind if I open a window? Because this place reeks of sausage. Maybe you’ll find that other members have similar concerns and the group can change in a non-forced, organic fashion. Alternatively, you might ask to invite another artist to come with you to the next meeting—and that artist might just happen to be a woman (warn her first!). If she’s treated coldly or disrespectfully, you’ll know where these gentlemen stand.

Cosima von Bonin. AM I TOO LOUD?, 2008; cotton, wool; 92.91 x 117.32 in.

Addressing sexism head-on can feel risky, and if you end up having a general discussion, you might find yourself accused of being a “white knight” or some other nonsense. If that’s the case, you probably don’t want to be friends with this group of bros, no matter what the professional opportunities might be. Remember that old gem, “Tell me who your friends are, and I’ll tell you who you are”? We are judged by the company we keep, so keep company that you respect and others will judge you as respectable by those same standards. With any luck, you’ll be able to gently introduce some gender diversity to this group, enlarging and enriching it for everyone.

If you’re interested in learning more about gender inequality in the arts, you can check out work by The Guerilla Girls, Brainstormers!, and the artists who recently worked with Micol Hebron to produce this show. And after you’ve gotten comfortable with challenging sexism, I hope your next question will be: Why is this room full of white people? Good luck!

This week’s column features the smart, funny work of artist Justin Kemp (in particular, I love his adding to the internet project, which was too big to be included here). I found his work on the Rhizome ArtBase,”an online home for works that employ materials such as software, code, websites, moving images, games and browsers towards aesthetic and critical ends.” Check it out!

I have never approached a gallery or reached out to the art world beyond maintaining a basic website because I haven’t had a body of work I felt the least bit thrilled with–until now. Meanwhile, my best friend–a successful radio morning-show guy–spent the wee hours of his recent 40th birthday accusing me of being an ivory-tower artist and insisting that I was insane not to be promoting myself on Facebook and other social media. Any defense I could mount sounded elitist and snobby despite my best intentions. It’s been a few days and I’m still having a hard time articulating my reservations. On the one hand, of course I want vast numbers of people to see my work for its own sake and make of it what they will. On the other hand, I am repulsed by the idea of jumping into the public pool just because all the other lemmings did, naively unconcerned with the ramifications of having their lives irreversibly put on public display, just to play trite ego-games in an environment controlled by big business, monitored by government, and all of it propped up by nuclear-energy-guzzling machines made in places with questionable labor and environmental practices, whence they ultimately return on toxic waste barges.

Leaving my paranoia aside, I also feel that an artist today would do well to cultivate a little mystique. Despite my friend’s imploring to the contrary, I feel that yes, I will indeed be somehow rewarded someday for not succumbing to social media, because I feel that a gallerist wants to be the discoverer of the artist as a diamond in the rough, and how can you “discover” someone who already has 3,000 “likes” or “friends?” Am I an e-prude?

Golly. I can’t tell if you’ve come to the absolute right place or the wrongest of wrong places for an answer. Like you, I’ve eschewed most forms of social networking, and while I’m maybe not quite as paranoid (at least on the good days), I do share some of your concerns about privacy and what you winningly call “ego games.” So my answer might be a little bit preaching-to-the-choir, but I’ll do my best to help you puzzle through your current situation.

Justin Kemp, proclaiming my love at a scenic overlook on top of a mountain, 2010. Tree carving; video on website 1’30”

First, let’s deal with practical matters. If you really want to attempt a defense that doesn’t sound elitist, you could cite the studies on Facebook and anxiety and what it does to your self-esteem. Or you could try a more pragmatic tack by talking about how fast technology turns over (remember MySpace and Friendster?), something that the techno-pundits are already discussing. You could mention that Facebook’s IPO was miserable compared to financial projections, the site is losing users, and co-founder Dustin Moskovitz and board member Peter Thiel are dumping millions of shares of stock from their portfolios—not a good sign. And in case you thought FB was the only villain, Twitter is now going to be spamming everyone’s feed with “promoted tweets” based on their interests. Because nothing in this world is truly free, all social media moves in the direction of targeted advertising, which they accomplish by tracking your data.

But really what you need to do, instead of mounting an airtight defense, is to stop comparing yourself to your friend—and stop letting him compare his situation to yours, because they’re completely different. He has a vested interest in being a part of social media: as a radio-show host, he’s a public figure with a specific message. Radio stations are supported by advertising, which the radio station sells to businesses by telling them how many people will hear their ads. They can increase that number of listeners, and then sell ads for more money, by using social media to market the show. By tweeting his political views or NOM NOM sushi lunch, your friend could be ultimately ensuring that he has a job next month. (Just as I’m sure that my editors are reading this right now and thinking, Yes, darling, get a damned Twitter account already and help us sell some advertising so we can keep on cutting checks for this column. But I digress.)

Justin Kemp, surfing with the sand between my toes (after brian wilson), 2010. Sandbox, Mac Pro, desk and chair in living room

Of course, you are an e-prude, at least by today’s standards. If that makes you feel insufferably bad, you’re either going to have to give it up and get publicly naked on the internet or else cultivate a sense of pride and learn to wear your smug, elitist, aloof moral superiority (because that’s certainly what you’ll be accused of) as a badge of honor. If you opt for the latter, recognize now that you may never get to have a normal conversation about the Internet again. No matter how neutrally you frame it, some people will look upon your lack of social media presence as a negative assessment of their own habits and get defensive and preachy. I spent ten years without a television, and learning that fact never stopped anyone from first heartily vowing that they never really watched TV either, and then following that up by recounting the plot of some idiotic sitcom that they were convinced I would just adore. I expect it’ll be the same with social media—your obvious expression of disinterest won’t make the proselytizers go away, so if you hold your ground just resign yourself to having that chat. But you’re a creative person, right? So surely you can figure out a creative way to get people looking at your work without compromising what you believe in.

I don’t know about this mystique thing, though, or the idea of being “rewarded” for shunning social media (the reward you get from not being on Twitter is that you don’t have to receive 140-character messages about anyone’s baby or puppy or gourmet sandwich—isn’t that enough?). While I’ve never run a gallery myself, it seems to me that gallerists prefer artists who can make good work, work that they can sell, in enough quantity to keep everyone happy. It’s my impression that they could care less if you have 3,000 “friends” or not, as long as they can do their job and pay the gallery’s rent. I am sure, however, that waiting at the soda fountain to get discovered like Lana Turner is not going to do the trick; but that doesn’t mean you need to jump into a pool that you find so completely offensive. I highly recommend that you spend a day or two at your local library reading art-career books like Art/Work, Taking the Leap, and others. These books will give you some alternate ideas on how to reach out and cultivate connections in the art community.

Justin Kemp, Status Updates, 2011. 26 short performances with Nick DeMarco at Vogt Gallery

I dig that social media isn’t your scene, and I’m glad that you both know yourself and stick to your principles, but the last bit of advice I want to dole out this week is that you can always change your mind. If you think of a brilliant way to use social media as part of, or in support of, your practice then by all means dive in. And maybe the next iteration of social networking will somehow be ecologically conscious and privacy-friendly, so never say never. Artists, even stubborn ones like you and me, should be open to the possibilities. Take this great new work of yours that you’re thrilled about and get it in front of people in a way that doesn’t leave a bad taste in your mouth. Perhaps someday social media will catch up to you, instead of the other way around.

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The irony in all of this is that DailyServing’s current platform only accepts comments from Facebook, which of course I won’t receive. If you have a comment that you’d like me to read or a burning question you need me to answer, you can send it the new old-fashioned way: helpdesk@dailyserving.com

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.