I am a midcareer (female) artist married to an established (male) artist. Throughout our relationship I have endured innumerable comments and actions that validate my husband and cast me into the shadows. At social events I will be standing by my husband as he is introduced as an artist, and I am introduced with only my first name (if introduced at all). In one particularly memorable/awful dinner after an opening, his gallerist at the time literally told me to get up from my seat because “artists sit at this table, wives and girlfriends are over there” (meaning another table). I get that he is more established than I am, but I also have an MFA, frequently show my work, am invited to give artist talks, and teach at a university. Recently we collaborated on a project—which overall was a good experience—but I am dismayed to see social-media posts that only credit him. On the night of the opening, one of the gallery staff said to me, “Isn’t [husband’s name]’s installation great?!” We had both attended meetings at the gallery (with this person in attendance), had both been included on logistical emails (with this person cc’ed), both responded to requests for information, and it was obvious that the two of us brought separate components to the installation. Yet I was erased. The times I have spoken up to correct these situations (saying, “I’m an artist too!”) have been awkward, and I know I come across as a bitch, petty, insecure, etc. The sexism of the art world astounds me…but I’m not sure what I can do.

Nancy Spero. Picasso and Frederick’s of Hollywood, 1990; handprinted collage on paper; two parts, each 17.25 x 109.625 in.

Thank you for this question, even though it gave me flashbacks. I, too, am a woman artist with a male-artist partner, and have experienced similar treatment. I remember being goggle-eyed with astonishment when a nonprofit director heartily thanked my husband for his contribution to their annual fundraising auction—a contribution of my artwork that I had donated! No doubt thousands of other women could provide comparable examples. A friend and I call the automatic credit that men seem to accrue merely by existing the penis award. And it’s atrocious.

Your plaintive, “I was erased,” breaks my heart. This is the fundamental charge of sexism—that women are not full human beings who deserve equal respect, attention, pay, healthcare, or credit for their accomplishments. The message is that you are less than your husband. This is gravely injurious, not only directly to you, but to your business partnerships, your potential friendships, your marriage, and your sanity.

Sexism must be tackled head-on, and women can’t be the only ones on the battlefield. Therefore, the first thing that has to happen is that your husband has to start speaking up on your behalf when these attacks occur in front of him. In introductions, if you are sidelined by, “…and this is his wife,” he must say, “Jane Lastname. My wife is also an artist, and we sometimes collaborate.” If someone barks at you to sit at the “wives’ table”—oh, how odious is this phrase!—he must step in and say, “There must be a misunderstanding. Jane is also an artist.” When articles and Instagram posts and tweets are published citing only your husband for work that is collaborative, he must split with you the labor of contacting the authors and requesting a correction. Men are responsible for patriarchy, and thus are at least 50 percent responsible for dismantling it.

But what about the times when your husband isn’t there? When correcting someone makes you feel like “a bitch, petty, insecure”? This is where some scripts and roleplay can come in handy. What would a secure response look and sound like? Consider this: You are only stating facts. I am an artist. This work was a collaboration. Your article contains a citation that is incorrect. I want you to imagine every scenario in which you have been erased, ignored, and slighted. Write your memories down. Then rewrite the scenarios as a series of short scripts in which the snubs are the same but you are playing a slightly different self—a cool, magnanimous character who is sadly and temporarily surrounded by intellectual lightweights. Think two parts Rosalind Russell, one part Mr. T. It might go something like this:

Gallery staff: Isn’t [husband’s name]’s installation great?!

You: [deep breath, charming smile, small genuine laugh, eye contact like laser beams] I’m glad you think so! He and I collaborated, I’m happy to hear that our work is successful.

My dear, you are a queen—regardless of who does or does not recognize it—and if you aren’t yet adept at handing out a correction that drips with long-suffering noblesse oblige, go study the movie Auntie Mame and then take your scripts into the bathroom and practice in the mirror until you feel more comfortable with straightening these simpletons out. Unfortunately, we live in a world full of people who have either never learned or are unwilling to behave with egalitarianism. These situations are something you will continue to deal with, so why not build an arsenal of strategies that allow you to navigate other people’s idiotic failings with elan? You won’t fix the world in a single go, but at least you’ll have some fun with it. The best middle finger is the one that’s raised with gaiety.

If you’re not already meeting with other women artists, please look for groups (or start your own) that can help support your practice and your overall mental health: Meetup, a campus group of fellow art-faculty members, ArtTable, and Women’s Caucus for Art are just a few suggestions. Try to meet regularly with other women, and work out a few strategic plans for supporting each other in the studio, at openings, and on social media. If we can’t rely on the penis award, we ought to be able to rely on each other. 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!