As an artist, what can I do to make studio visits (with critics, curators, etc.) really, really great? I often feel like I don’t know what I’m doing. It might not help that I don’t exactly have a studio-based practice. I’m wondering if there’s anything I should be doing that I don’t know about.

I’ve responded to questions about studio visits before, so take a look at the answers to see if there’s anything that applies to your situation. However, you’re the first artist to ask specifically about visits for a non-studio-based practice, so this time I reached out to some curators and artists who understand what it means to work away from the studio, and they had some tips for you.

Barbara Probst. Exposure #109: Munich Studio, 09.19.13, 5:31 p.m., 2013; ultrachrome ink on cotton paper, 2 parts, 24 x 24 in. each, edition of 5.

No matter what your practice consists of, the normal rules apply: clear away trash and health hazards; offer a beverage and maybe a snack; don’t have anything out that you’re not interested in discussing. One curator in San Francisco told me, “Like a strong artist’s talk, it’s helpful if you walk through your practice either thematically or chronologically. This guides the visitor through your thought process and development, so they understand the issues and ideas that concern you as an artist. It really shouldn’t matter if you have a studio-based practice or not; it’s more important that you effectively communicate what it is that you do and why you do it.”

Dena Beard, Assistant Curator at the UC Berkeley Art Museum and Pacific Film Archive, notes that you should “have a loose plan for the visit itself. Set up some past pieces and current projects, make sure that videos work and are loaded and that ambient sound is at a reasonable volume. If your current projects are still in the research stage, show your research process. If you are in a more developed stage, have an execution plan even if you don’t have an exhibition site pinned down (i.e., there will be roughly 8–12 works in this series, the installation will take up 350 square feet of floor space approximately, the piece will rely on $5K of funding for additional elements, etc.).”

Barbara Probst. Exposure #99: N.Y.C., 401 Broadway, 02.17.12, 6:38 p.m., 2012; ultrachrome ink on cotton paper, 2 parts, 29 x 44 in. each, edition of 5.

Of course, if you don’t have a studio-based practice, you might not have a studio (or access to a studio-like space) at all. One post-studio artist I know suggested: “A non-studio practice is a great opportunity to formulate a really unique and interesting new conception of the studio visit, so consider doing it in a space where your work is currently exhibited, or line up another nice, clean spot to hang your work or show documentation of work.”

This artist adds: “But no matter where you conduct the visit, be prepared! Get to the space early and set it up, get the heat or A/C going, and get the lights on so that it’s comfortable when the visitor gets there. Don’t fumble with your computer trying to find image files, don’t rummage through piles of work to find a piece. Have everything you want to show ready to go. If you’re showing documentation on a computer, don’t simply scroll through your own website; have other images available, either newer works or different views of existing works.”

“Make the work look good. If it’s hanging work, hang it right. Repaint a plinth if necessary. If it’s simply documentation on a computer or in a portfolio, have good-looking, well-organized, clear images. A studio visit is for three things: to meet the artist, to see the work, and to see the working process of the artist. Make sure all three elements are displayed to good advantage.”

A non-studio practice shouldn’t stop you from having a great studio visit, even if the “studio” is a curator’s office, an exhibition space, or even your kitchen table. The trick is to make the space comfortable, be well prepared, and to offer your visitor an overview of your work, your practice, and your ideas. A studio visit is an opportunity to have a stimulating exchange, so bring your best game. Good luck!

This is the last Help Desk column for 2013! Thanks to everyone who submitted a question this year, and thank you to the curators, writers, gallerists, art consultants, artists, instructors, and other arts workers who generously gave their time and energy to helping me find answers!

Dear Help Desk,

I have a nagging suspicion a prominent curator in my town feels slighted by my inaction to follow up on a studio visit he solicited. I know opportunities like this don’t happen often, and I deeply regret not following up, but I was in my thesis year of graduate school and could do little more than eat, sleep and work in the studio. We’ve bumped into each other at art openings and other events and he does his best to overlook me but greets my husband. Building an art career is difficult enough, I worry that his feelings toward me might make it even harder. I’m so embarrassed by the situation I don’t know how to proceed.

So you missed an opportunity to present your work, and now you believe that the curator is taking it personally and showing you his feelings by snubbing you at openings. There’s really only one way to find out if that’s true: by writing to him and asking for a studio visit.

Robert Rauschenberg, Minutiae, 1954. 

You could play this a few different ways. You could, in the email, apologize for not following up, explain how overwhelmed you felt during school, and ask if the opportunity is still open; or you could just send a very short note requesting a time for a visit (with no mention of your prior interactions); or you could try for the middle ground, requesting an appointment “now that I’m out of school and not swamped by coursework.” Personally, I’d choose the last option, acknowledging your former position but without making it into a big deal. You owe it to yourself to investigate this situation and see if it’s possible find out what’s really going on—otherwise, you’ll just torture yourself every time you run into him. By getting in touch, it’s likely that you’ll be able to determine (either by the curator’s response, or by his non-response) how he feels about your interactions; and whether it’s good news or bad news, it will allow you to discern his estimation of your (albeit limited) interactions. Additionally, if this curator’s feelings were indeed hurt, your continued interest in a studio visit might mend the rift. Communicating your previous situation will let him know that it was nothing personal and that you take the opportunity seriously. Don’t put this off any longer, just write a nice email and send it off today.

Robert Rauschenberg, Retroactive I, 1963.

Now, aside from the issue of if/when/what you hear back from this person, you’ll want to think about your broader goals. This person is important in your community, but make sure you’re not putting put all your eggs in his basket. Building an art career is laborious, and you can’t control what other people do; but you can take steps to carve out your own future regardless of how things end up with Mr. Prominent Curator. While he may be a big deal in your town, he can’t be the only one, so sit down and make a list of all the other people that you’d like to ask for a studio visit. Start the list with curators and gallerists in your town, then make another list of people you’d like to work with in the closest big city (this process may require research, which you can read about here). When selecting the people you’d like to contact, try to strike a balance between the VIPs and the relatively obscure. On the one hand, I encourage you to shoot high. Even if the blue-chippers aren’t scurrying over to your studio in droves, you’ll get your work in front of them, which is never a bad thing. On the other hand, be sure to include curators, writers, and other artists who share your ambition but are also still on their way. By creating a balanced list, you’re more likely to actually make some appointments, and you never know who will be enthusiastic and give you some useful feedback. Low-pressure studio visits are great practice for when the heavy hitters do start sniffing around, and today’s upstart arts blogger might be tomorrow’s Artforum staff writer. Of course, just like grant applications and project proposals, studio visits are a great tool to help you see your work through another person’s eyes, to analyze your studio practice in novel ways, and clarify your thinking about your artistic motives and strategies.

Robert Rauschenberg, Estate, 1963.

When your list is ready, start reaching out via email and asking all of these individuals for studio visits. If a curator lives in another city, ask if they plan to visit your town in the future and request that he/she gets in touch. Include a link to your website and links to any online press. If your work looks good on a computer screen and you’re able to travel, you might propose to meet them in their city for an impromptu “studio on a laptop” visit. Or, even better, if you have an exhibition in another city you can contact curators and writers in the area and propose to meet them one-on-one in the exhibition space, using that as an ersatz studio while you’re in town. No matter where you’re meeting, try to group studio visits closely on the calendar. This will keep you fresh and in the proper headspace to talk about your work, and will save you having to repeatedly clean up your studio in preparation for the next guest (more on studio visits here).

The best studio visits are valuable and enjoyable for both parties. If you work to make the experience a positive one, you’re likely to be able to foster a lot of interest in your work among the arts community in your area, including Mr. Prominent Curator himself.

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Email your art-related dilemma to helpdesk@dailyserving.com. Anonymity guaranteed!

This week’s column is accompanied by images from Wynne Greenwood‘s recent show “Peace In” at Lawrimore Project in Seattle.

Your counselor, hard at work.

Do you think that learning the technique of mediums before using them (instead of just doing something arbitrary with the medium) is stifling to creativity?

No, I don’t. Creativity isn’t arbitrary, it is direct imaginative action oriented toward a medium. The more you know, the more calculating and precise you can be (all while making it seem effortless). What is stifling to creativity is when the urge to create is stymied by a lack of knowledge. Stop complaining about your color theory homework—I promise it will stand you in good stead some day.

Wynne Greenwood, “Peace In” installation view

I have Asperger’s Syndrome. I’ve known this since I was very young, and was fortunate enough to have parents who helped me sort through it in the right way. It is very mild, and I don’t even really think much of it, however I’ve noticed that my behavior tends to color people’s opinion of my artwork. Sometimes I get the impression that they think I am some narrowly-focused-boy-wonder-type. I can’t say that this impression has hurt me – in fact, I believe it amplifies any interest in my work – however I’m not sure how I feel about being contextualized this way. Should I fight against this reputation I seem to be inadvertently building?

I wonder what you could possibly do to combat the impression you believe you are making. After all, you don’t know what conclusions people are actually coming to when you interact with them. You’re just guessing. But if you want to try to fight this assumption (yours and, potentially, your studio visitor’s) you’ll have to beat them to the punch. Maybe you could make a t-shirt that says, “I think that you think that I’m some kind of boy wonder, but I want to preemptively let you know that I’m not.” For brevity’s sake, on the back it could just say ASPERGER’S–you know, like a team jersey.

Wynne Greenwood, Head #2 with Pillar, 2012. Painted ceramic, dyed fabric, thread and foam, 48 x 24 x 24 inches

However, fashion’s not really my thing (see column lead picture, above) so in place of sartorial advice let’s get to the heart of this matter: the problem of how an artist controls her public image. Obviously, it’s necessary for the professional artist to have some information about herself out in the world (name, birthplace, education, and exhibitions are all basic resume items and statements often mention inspirations, etc.), but it’s funny how quickly this can get distorted or mischaracterized. Sometimes it seems that fact checking is passé: if someone gets a notion about who you are, and especially if it enlivens a story, there’s not much you can do. It’s no easy task to fight the rising tide of misinformation that gets circulated, especially when we live in a culture that fetishizes artists even as it undervalues them.

Let me give you an extreme example of how biographical information gets twisted: one young artist I know was born in Africa but raised in the US. She has an American accent. Upon meeting her, one patron said enthusiastically, “Oh, you’re African!” “No,” corrected my pal, “I was born in Africa, but I was raised in the US, in the South.” The patron immediately switched to expressing her sympathy, appearing to believe that the artist grew up in poverty-stricken circumstances. In reality, the artist had a comfortable middle-class suburban childhood, but this woman clearly wanted to put her into a particular category: either the “foreign/exotic” box or, when that didn’t work, in the “black ghetto” box. She wanted the artist’s life experience to be one that neatly dovetailed with her own assumptions.

Wynne Greenwood, Head #1 with Pillar, 2012. Painted ceramic, dyed fabric, thread and foam, 48 x 24 x 24 inches

Even at its most benign, the art world (indeed, the entire world) loves a good narrative. Many artists have cannily crafted a detailed back-story for themselves that enhances the reception of their work. Others (like collectives) eschew authorship and, in the process, reject the idea of creating a personal history that supports their oeuvre. But in contemporary art—which, let’s face it, is often confusing or opaque—there’s a lust for biography and a desire to make direct connections between the life of the artist and her work. No matter what you do, if critics, gallerists and curators are paying attention to your practice they are going to construct a narrative that links their perception of your personal tale with your artmaking. It’s just one way that humans attempt to explain the circumstances of imagination and creativity.

It seems that there is little you can do about it—at least preemptively—without falling victim to your own conjectures about what other people might think of you and your work. Consider the possibility that your work is simply good enough to merit attention. If your natural behavioral eccentricities make you an even more charming or romantic figure, so be it. As long as you are not being disingenuous then there’s nothing wrong with allowing people to cultivate whatever notions they want about you—and remember that they’re going to do it anyway. If you feel that it’s important to correct any possible misunderstanding of your work or your studio practice, you’re free to mention Asperger’s in your artist statement or in studio visits. But be warned that this information will create another dialog around the work that will only play into another set of assumptions, ones that you may not want to deal with.

This week’s column is illustrated with collages by Eva Lake, whose solo show “Judd Women Targets” is currently on view at Frosch & Portmann in New York, through June 3, 2012.

Your counselor, hard at work.

If an artist is attempting to call attention to a particular issue that in some way either oppresses a group of people or includes imagery of unethical actions, is their artwork also unethical if they intentionally include or use oppressive tactics or graphic images to do so?

There is no permanent, fixed equation that we can apply to art—especially art that intends to become activism—and I’m not amenable to making an ultimate pronouncement on work that exists as a hypothetical. It’s better to be aware of the concerns surrounding art and activism in general and proffer judgments on a case-by-case basis. An artist who wishes to take an activist stance in regard to an issue must think very carefully through the problem at hand.

Eva Lake, Target No. 32 (Wayne Thiebaud Painting), 2008. Photomontage, 11 1/2 x 11 1/2 inches

I contacted a few artists that are currently making work that intends to be activist, but for the first time in the brief history of this column, not one of them responded. Perhaps they were afraid to go on record regarding the conflicts and contradictions their work presents? In any case, Anuradha Vikram, Curator of the Worth Ryder Art Gallery at UC Berkeley, kindly shed some light on this matter. She asks would-be activist-artists to ponder some art-world assumptions: “When seeking to call attention to any troubling issue, one key maxim to consider is that of the physician: ‘first, do no harm.’ Too often, artists seem to mistake demonstrating a set of conditions for critiquing them. If the work is replicating unethical behaviors, what is the artist doing besides perpetuating those behaviors? Perhaps, if one assumes that the context for art is a neutral one (the proverbial ‘white cube’) then it could be argued that by isolating and framing such actions, the artist makes the critique implicitly. However, if the last 40 years of art-world controversy have taught us anything, it is that ‘neutrality’ is often interchangeable with ‘privilege.’ Recreating oppression within a space of privilege is simply oppressive. A critique needs to go farther than that, and a sophisticated critique does not need to replicate such dynamics in order to unpack them.”

I agree, and can’t emphasize that last sentence enough: a sophisticated critique is what any artist-activist should be working toward. I also think the issue of commodification is important here. Can art truly make a change if it doesn’t materially aid the victims whose cause it purports to advance? If it only “raises awareness” of an issue by replicating abuse, it’s possible that its main consequence is simply to turn the expression of subjugation into an exchangeable commodity (for money, status, notoriety, etc.) which primarily benefits the artist or the art establishment. And on a personal level, if your activism turns you into a celebrity but does nothing to change the brutality you supposedly decry, your innocent intentions become worse than worldly cynicism. Emancipation cannot be achieved by oppressive means.

Related reading: groundswellcollective.com and the books Art & Agenda and Wild Fire: Art as Activism.

Eva Lake, Judd Montage No. 6, 2007. Photomontage, 8 ½ x 7 ¾

I am in my junior year of a BFA program at a university that I love. My grades have always been stellar, and I feel empowered to make work that extends far beyond the minimal requirements of assignments – work that I would be proud to exhibit; however, my work has been rejected from several local juried shows recently (in the past, I have been accepted to shows and even sold work). In addition, one of my main professors has been giving me lower grades than I am used to. I’m open to criticism, and I know I have a lot to learn, but the direction seems to be simply that I’m not making the work that they expect. 

There is a small part of me that wants to conform and get good grades so I can move on to an MFA program elsewhere. The louder, bossier side of me believes that my Postmodern ideas are valid, but happen to be inconsistent with the traditional Modernist teaching methods of the faculty at my university. Can you give me some ideas about how to make the most of my education without burning bridges or officially ruining my transcript?

There are really three parts to your query: how to make the most of your time in school now, the correlation between grades and MFA programs, and the larger idea of the feedback you’ve been getting. I think they’re all related in the end, but let’s deal with the MFA part first because it might be the easiest.

Eva Lake, Judd Montage No. 1, 2007. Photomontage, 7 ¾ x 8 ¼

My understanding of the MFA admissions process (which I went through in 2009) is that it is heavily weighted toward the quality of the applicant’s work, her CV, her recommendations and how she performs in the interview, more or less in that order. Unlike medical school, undergraduate grades don’t really count for much when applying for the MFA. I confirmed this with one department chair at a well-known art school in a Midwestern city (all my experts requested anonymity).

Another department head, this one from an art school on the east coast, said, “First and foremost is the portfolio! This seems a rule and something that can be applied across the board. If the work is strong, other things become secondary.” My third expert, a painting chair from a well-regarded school in California, said, “Strong, well-documented work and a well-written statement are 90% of the battle.” Some MFA programs do have a minimum GPA requirement, but it doesn’t sound as though you’re in danger of getting an F. So on one hand, it seems that you don’t have to worry about your grades if you only consider them in aid of going for the MFA later.

Eva Lake, Judd Montage No. 17, 2011. Photomontage, 6 ¼ x 9 ½

However, your question touches on larger issues. It seems like your prior work was more successful in the past, earning you good grades and exhibitions alike. Your newer work isn’t being met with the same regard. There could be some good reasons for that: it might be that the work still needs to be developed (it’s new, after all), or that it doesn’t fit in with the status quo of your Modernist milieu, or any number of other possibilities. There’s only one way to find out for sure, and that’s to get people into your studio to see the work and talk with you about it. Here’s where we come to the subject of how to make the most of your time now.

If you’re a regular reader, you may have noticed that I’m an ardent advocate for following your own course. I think that if you want to make this work, you should. I’ll always stand by your right to define yourself and your work on your own terms. However, passion alone doesn’t necessarily make good art and it’s your charge to determine if your new direction shows promise or not. How can you do that? By making a concerted effort to have as many conversations about the work as possible over the next year. Begin this process with your own professors, including the one who has been giving you lesser grades. Have you asked this person directly what drives his decisions regarding your lower marks? Asking someone to explain their grading process is not the same as whining for an A; just be blunt: “I noticed that my grades are lower than before, and I’m not sure I understand why. Can you please walk me through your decision?” If nothing else, you’ll clear the air with this person and figure out if you want to work with him during your final year of school.

Eva Lake, Judd Montage No. 13, 2007. Photomontage, 5 ¾ x 8

While this is a good place to start, I suggest you expand the field. If your suspicion is that the new work simply goes against the grain of the academic atmosphere, then you must investigate this hypothesis by requesting studio visits with artists who are not part of your university’s faculty. Are there visiting artists or lecturers you can contact? Are there local people (artists working in your medium, gallerists, or independent curators) that you can approach? Write them all an email asking for a visit and explain your situation: you’re not looking for a show, you’re trying to get some non-academic feedback on new work. These visits should be absolutely candid. Say what you’ve told me about your prior work versus your new work and its reception at school. Ask these people to be honest and direct. It sounds to me like you can take it, and you don’t want to waste your time.

Before I wrap up, I want to say something about the MFA and graduate school in general. Don’t go straight from the BFA to the MFA. Unlike undergraduate studies, graduate programs are entirely self-directed, and two years goes by very quickly. The only way to make the most of a graduate program is to go in knowing what you don’t know so that you can ask the right questions while you are there. This requires a level of maturity and self-knowledge that can only be gained through living in the real world and negotiating a life as an artist outside the support system of school. Get your BFA, make a studio life for yourself, work on your oeuvre and your CV, and then apply for the MFA when your portfolio is so dazzling that it could blind an admissions panel to a string of Cs on your transcript.