How do you break up with a collaborator? Asking for a friend.

Barbara Kruger. Untitled (Thinking of You), 1999-2000; screen print on vinyl; 123 1/8 × 100 11/16 in.

Simple in theory, painful in practice—but the way to break up a collaborative partnership is the same as for a romantic one: with as much honesty and compassion as you can muster. If you’re splitting up to pursue solo projects, then you have to say so; if you’ve found a new collaborator, you’ll have to announce it; if there are irreconcilable differences around ideas, money, or division of labor, then you have to discuss them.

Anyone with a conscience knows that you have to do this face to face. If you’ve shared the profound process of making art together, then you must honor your former collaboration by also experiencing the awkward, sad space of separation. And even if the conversation ends badly, at least you’ll walk away with integrity.

Find neutral territory for your chat—refrain from polluting the studio environment with bad feelings. Explain your reasons calmly and without rancor. Even if you’re truly incompatible at this point, avoid hyperbolic assertions or blaming the other person for the split. Own your feelings by using “I” statements rather than “you” statements (for example, “I’d like to work solo for a while and pursue my ideas” instead of “You always insist on doing it your way.”) If you don’t have a lot of practice with these behaviors, try writing your thoughts out before meeting. And listen to the response with empathy.

Breaking up, as the song goes, is really hard to do. If you’re keyed up and feeling defensive, it may be tempting to enumerate your (former) partner’s faults—but don’t, even if her behavior turns hostile. Instead, focus on the positive: how you’ve developed your ideas and work, the strategic and technical lessons you’ve learned, and the way that collaborating has expanded your thinking. Express your desire for your (ex) collaborator to do well, and talk about how you might support one another’s practice in new ways.

Depending on how emotionally difficult this meeting turns out to be, you may need to cool off and then meet again to discuss more practical matters. If you hold materials or tools in common, they will need to be divided. You’ll also have to think about the future life of your collaborative oeuvre. How will you proceed with the artworks you hold in common? Who will store them? Who will track inventory and sales? You will need to draw up a written, signed contract (you’ll find some food for thought here, and you might be able to use some of the contract language found here). Endeavor to be fair, lest you end up in court later like Marina Abramović and Ulay. Remember that a good contract protects both parties equally.

Many of the long-term artistic partners I know pivot between their solo and collaborative practices; if your relationship is not already damaged beyond repair, you might consider suggesting a hiatus instead of a permanent split. However, if you really can’t work together anymore, then your best bet is to be forthright, sympathetic, and equitable. Good luck!

This question follows your recent Help Desk article “Underrepresentation.” I appreciated that answer so much, since I know many artists who feel the same. I got stuck on this simple sentence, though: “Start by identifying at least one other gallery in your city that you’d rather work with, and invite the director(s) for a visit.” Any word of advice on the best way to go about this? Of course, go to the openings, show face, etc.—but time and time again I hear what a faux pas it is for an artist to contact a gallery directly. If you are an artist who didn’t go to grad school in the city you live in, and/or is not a mover and shaker by nature, therefore not likely to quickly make friends with people who are “in the know” and can introduce you, what is the best method of approaching a gallery for a studio visit?

Louise Bourgeois in her studio.

Let’s start with a tiny shift in perspective: Unless you plan to work with some kind of faceless consortium of finance bros who have LLC’d together to open an art space, you’re not asking a gallery for a studio visit, you’re asking a person—in other words, you’re looking for a human being with whom to build a long-term, mutually beneficial professional relationship. This change to your outlook is important, because a person (aka the gallerist) has preferences and needs just like you, and you want to make sure you’re a good match for each other. The best place to start is with research: Does your work fit the program? This is perhaps the most important part of your behind-the-scenes work, because a dealer who sells plein air paintings is never going to be interested in conceptual video. Also, what are the gallerist’s priorities? A dealer who spends the entire year at art fairs may not be keen to work with an artist who only makes large-scale installations. Take the time to study the galleries’ programs.

It’s true that an introduction is still the best way in, but even this strategy has potential pitfalls. One Los Angeles dealer read your question and said, “Personal introductions do go a long way. I recommend taking a solid look at your social network to determine if anyone can introduce you to someone at the gallery (even if not the director) to utilize that connection to reach the powers that be.” However, another gallerist from the same city tempers this advice: “I hate it when artists show up at the gallery and say something like, ‘Dealer X sent me, thought you might like my work’ or ‘Artist Y sent me, said you might…’ Dealers and artists should share websites with gallerists rather than ever send an artist over to a gallery—that’s the worst, or at least it’s not good…” So even if you score an introduction, don’t put the dealer on the spot by requesting a studio visit in person; ask your connection to send an email with the pertinent information.

If you can’t secure an introduction, is it really a bad idea to approach a dealer directly? Gallerist Number Two told me, “It’s not a faux pas to approach dealers directly, but the approach must grow out of a pattern of sincere support and engagement. Gallerists appreciate support (show up to our shit, etc). When an artist comes out repeatedly and says something sincere and interesting about the shows (suggesting that they actually are enjoying the programming), and they keep coming back, I always end up feeling grateful and find that my conversations with the artist starts to change after a while, and I’ve often said, ‘Maybe we could do a studio visit’ (unless I know the work and know it’s not for me). Sincere support of a gallery program is the best way to go when there is no inside relationship. It has definitely worked to get studio visits with me.”

Dealer Number One has some further recommendations: “If an introduction is not an option, then timing is everything. Wait until there is a sense of urgency. Email the gallerist when you are about to ship works out for another major show and ask them if they’d like to see the work before it leaves the studio. That way they know that your career has some momentum, and that they have a call to action with a time limit in place. And be patient. Sometimes it takes someone seeing your work three to five times before they really take interest. Remain as active as possible and share your exhibitions and studio updates appropriately on social media and through emails, etc.”

Throughout this process of checking out programs and meeting dealers, I encourage you to bear in mind that the artist–gallerist connection is a two-way street; the personality of the gallerist you choose to work with will shape your working relationship for many years, so trust your instincts. When talking to the dealer, note your impressions. Is she approachable? Knowledgeable? Articulate? Enthusiastic? If you are making strong work, then with research, persistence, and patience you can find a gallerist that you feel is the right match. Good luck!

Richard Serra. Sequence, 2006; weatherproof steel; 153 x 488 x 782 3/17 in. overall and 2 in. thick; installation views at New York MoMA (top left) Photo: Lorenz Kienzle. Collection of the Artist, © 2007 Richard Serra / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York, LACMA (top right) Courtesy of the Artist, the Cantor Arts Center (bottom left) Photo: Saul Rosenfield, © 2014–15, with permission of Cantor Arts Center at Stanford University, and SFMOMA’s 85-foot wide by 55-foot long Howard Street gallery (bottom right) Photo: Henrik Kem © 2015.

It was foolish to have imagined that Richard Serra’s Sequence (2006) would easily relinquish its claim on the courtyard of Stanford University’s Cantor Arts Center. Even after power-washing, the concrete pad preserved the contours of the sculpture’s twelve twenty-ton weathering steel plates. During its four-year residency, a bond had grown between Sequence and its foundation, just as one had blossomed between the work and its community of followers. Visiting during the de-installation, these pilgrims sought one last visual memento, however inadequate, of the shifting experience of space and time conjured by Sequence’s winding pathways.

Sequence demands, and then commandeers, spaces like the Cantor’s courtyard, or the new San Francisco Museum of Modern Art gallery into which the sculpture moved in February 2015 in anticipation of the museum’s spring 2016 reopening. But just as the Lilliputians shackled Gulliver to a twenty-two-wheeled cart hauled by fifteen hundred tiny horses, transplanting Sequence is no simple undertaking. Riggers chained each of its thirteen-foot-high plates to its own eighteen-wheeler to conduct it from Palo Alto to San Francisco.¹

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