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!

I have an interview with a critic who sent me his questions in advance, and I found them to be leading and directive. How can I approach this type of conversation in a way where I can communicate what I feel is interesting about my work? For many artists, dealing with writers and art reviewers is an inevitable part of showing work. What are some tactics in general for making these conversations go well, for both interviewer and interviewee?

Julia Wachtel. Bleep, 2014; oil, flashe, acrylic ink on canvas; 60 x 73 in. Photo: David Brichford

Interviews can be tough even when the interviewer is sympathetic and savvy. Beyond the questions, so many other considerations are at play—including various hierarchies and a hunger to please your audience—that it can be difficult to think clearly enough to describe your own process. On top of that, if you feel the interviewer has an agenda that doesn’t match your own, the experience is potentially quite uncomfortable. But take heart, there are some strategies that you can use to boost your confidence and make the conversation more pleasant.

First, the basics: Research the journalist’s prior interviews and find out where yours will be published. Be aware that it will almost certainly be tailored for a specific audience (think Artforum versus a local newspaper), and even if you don’t wish to modify your answers for a particular readership, bear in mind that the conversation will be edited before publication. If you’re meeting in person, bring your laptop or iThing pre-loaded to your website—you might answer a question by discussing a piece that the interviewer hasn’t seen before, and images will aid you. Remember to take a slow, deep breath before you reply—and don’t worry how that might appear in the moment, because it’s the final publication that counts and in print no one hears you pause. Keep your answers concise and to the point.

But since you’ve already seen this interviewer’s questions and find them to be “leading and directive,” you’re going to have to be somewhat more Machiavellian than you ordinarily might. Remember former President George W. Bush? Journalists would ask him questions, and he would reply in a way that pushed his own agenda forward, even if it meant that the answer didn’t match the query. Here’s an example from a 2006 interview with Bill O’Reilly:

O’Reilly: Do you think Hillary Clinton is soft on terrorism?

Bush: I think—first of all it’s very important for me never to, you know, question anybody’s patriotism. I believe there’s a group of people here in Washington, however, who have a different view of this war. They view it as a law enforcement matter.

Notice how the question elicits a yes-or-no answer, but G.W.B. sidesteps it entirely, using it instead as an opportunity to introduce the notion of patriotism. If the Bush White House gave us anything (aside from bad governance and a forever war), it was an eight-year master class in evasive tactics. His administration was also expert at staying on message; in the same interview, Bush answers three successive questions with, “We don’t talk about techniques,” “I don’t want to talk about techniques,” and, “Well, one thing is that you can rest assured we’re not going to talk about the techniques we use in a public forum.”

Consider how the interview might serve your career and practice. When you take that little pause before replying, think about whether you can answer part of the question in a way that tells your story advantageously. To be clear, I’m not advocating for anyone to be evil, manipulative, or cynical, but if an interviewer has a set of assumptions that don’t serve the understanding of the work, then the artist should try to correct—though not necessarily control—the  message. If you’re doing a phone interview, you could even print out a cheat sheet with some key points that you want to communicate.

Interviews are sometimes intimidating, and even when they are fun, they are demanding. We want journalists to ask just the right questions that will allow us to present the best parts of our work and practices, highlight how articulate and brilliant we are, and make us look interesting and cool. But if that’s not happening, don’t be combative. Instead, focus on damage control: you can ask the critic how he/she sees your work, and then you’re free to respond with, “That’s interesting, because I’ve never considered that—I see my work as…” or some such. If the interviewer uses a particular description to ask about a piece and you don’t agree with the characterization, you can say, “I don’t really think about it like that. For me, it’s more about…” Feel free to contradict the interviewer—gently, politely—because in the end it makes for a more lively read; also, if this is going on the Internet then it will be up forever, so don’t hesitate to represent your work and practice as you see fit. Good luck!