Heidi Bucher. Hautraum (Ahnenhaus), 1980-82. Courtesy of Freymond-Guth Fine Arts, Zürich.

I work at a museum, but not as a curator or any similar position that might have influence over content. I am sometimes approached by artists (friends, associates, acquaintances, strangers at parties) who want to know how to get their art into a museum. Specifically my museum. What’s the curator’s phone number? Can they drop off a packet? Will I put it on someone’s desk? The way to a museum show is convoluted and not the same for every artist. I’m an artist too, and while I sympathize, I am sure my “help” wouldn’t help them and would jeopardize my professional relationships at work. But I would like to have something to tell people.

You have my sympathies. It must be annoying and kind of frightening to have friends, colleagues, and strangers alike envisioning your job as their fast track to being shown or collected by the museum. I mean, there you are, minding your own business like a cartoon pig out for a sunny walk, while behind every tree lurks a wolf who imagines you as a delicious Sunday ham served up on a fine china platter. Okay, no more similies. You get the idea.

Responding to strangers is easy, because all you have to do with any unknown person who asks you for an inappropriate and presumptuous career favor—one that might induce your colleagues to loathe you—is to just stare at her in silence. The longer the silence, the better, so practice this on your significant other or on the cat. If the stranger doesn’t then fall all over herself to backpedal (“Just kidding! Ha ha! I hate museums!”), then maintain your dead-face and say, “I regret that I’m not able to help you.” You can go to confession later for fibbing about the “regret” part.

Dealing with friends, of course, is more challenging—but as you are a fellow artist, I’m sure you can convey the necessary responses with a certain we’re-in-this-mess-together warmth. The best policy here, as in other situations with friends, is honesty. Assuming your museum does not accept unsolicited submissions, you can just say this in a sympathetic tone of voice accompanied by a rueful grimace. If someone requests a curator’s phone number, you can respond that you don’t know it (if you don’t have it memorized, then this is true) and it’s best to call the museum during business hours. If asked to put a packet on a curator’s desk, just explain that you’re not able to do that because it would irritate your professional colleagues and potentially lead to resentment among your other friends. Frankly, anyone who doesn’t understand this is immature, a jackass, or both.

Heidi Bucher. Untitled (Herrenzimmer), n.d.; latex, cotton; approx. 102 1/4 × 71 × 7 1/2 ̋. Courtesy of Freymond-Guth Fine Arts, Zürich.

I’m glad you point out in your question that having your work exhibited and/or collected by a museum is a tricky (and sometimes lengthy) process. More often than not, and depending on the size of the institution, this transaction might involve: gallerists and art dealers who want to increase the economic and social capital of the artists they represent; museum curators who are looking to acquire new works to fill holes in the collection; collectors who want to increase the prestige of the artists they collect; wealthy people who want to donate artwork for the tax write-off; museum board members who may be cozy with/related to any of the above; acquisitions team(s) who are making estimated guesses about the future of art history; and other contingent interpersonal and marketplace considerations that we don’t have space to go into here. I don’t blame any artist for wanting to get a foot in the door, but having a preparator or junior development associate leave a packet on a curator’s desk is, at best, a naïve waste of time and writable CDs.

A final suggestion: Consider asking friendlier members of the curatorial staff if they have any insight into the matter. You can explain that you’re getting hit with this particularly sticky request, and you want to formulate a stock, fact-based response in advance. That way, the next time you’re called upon for an eyebrow-raising favor, you can preface your answer with, “You know, I asked around at the museum, and their curatorial/acquisitions policy is…” Good luck!

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 submitted work in response to a thematic juried call by a large, reputable, nationally known and respected arts organization [in my city]. It’s my habit to first inspect a jury as well as examine any theme, to ensure my work is a good potential match before shelling out submission fees. The sole juror was the director of the organization. My work fit the theme. None of my submissions were accepted, but over the years I’ve been regularly both accepted and rejected by various juries, and don’t take either outcome too personally. My rejection letter had said they’d received many hundreds of submissions.

But because I support this organization’s mission, have taken a class there, and have visited curated exhibitions there in the past, I went back later to see the accepted artists. I was stunned to see only eight; curious, I checked out the website of each and was even more stunned. Half were alums of the juror’s alma mater. Two of the eight had previously been artists-in-residence at this same organization, and exhibited there. All were artists [from my city]. Clearly, this juror could easily have curated such an exhibition. And seemingly already had. I feel duped. What they did appears fraudulent. I’m tempted to complain to their board and request they refund all submitting artists’ fees, but I suspect either the board already knew of or has since observed the facts I did, and is either powerless or is complicit. And the art world is so small. I’m torn between reluctance to stand by silently, and reluctance to have “making a stink” be the way my name becomes known in the professional art community. What are your thoughts?

Eberhard Havekost. In Control, 2009; oil on canvas; 27.5 x 15.75 in.

I’m sorry you feel swindled, and I’m even sorrier to tell you that your righteous indignation, while perfectly understandable, is likely misdirected. Without a grasp of the finer points of this situation—including being able to talk to the curator or see the submissions—I’m left with guesswork, but experience and instinct lead me to believe that you should let this go.

Let’s look at your situation from the logical viewpoint: Bearing even that there were hundreds of submissions, no doubt at least half were eliminated for not adhering to the submission guidelines or not actually fitting the theme. (Artists often like to stretch the definition of a theme to include their own work, no matter the reality.) Probably half of what was left was not very good or interesting. Already, the vagaries of visual-arts jurying have narrowed the pool of submissions from hundreds to tens.

Following this, the juror put together a small selection of works from people he or she likely already knew. Is this fraudulent? No. Is it unimaginative and lazy? Certainly, but a label of fraud must by definition include deceit. I have a hard time imagining a juror who is also the director of a “reputed” arts organization setting out to swindle artists, especially at twenty-five or thirty dollars a pop.

Eberhard Havekost. Solitude B09/10, 2009-2010; oil on linen; 47.25 x 31.5 in.

At worst, this juror is guilty of risk avoidance. If you’ve ever sat on a jury, you’ll know that when you look at submissions, you get a lot more out of an artist’s documentation if you are already familiar with the work; it’s just a natural consequence of having a more detailed understanding of the artist’s intentions and execution. This juror may have felt more comfortable putting together a show of artists with whom he/she was familiar and, without necessarily meaning to bamboozle anyone, moved forward with an extremely conservative plan of action.

Is the situation unfair? Absolutely, and not just to you and the other rejected artists. This juror does him/herself—and the public—a disservice by not bringing artists outside your community to show in the space. Great things happen when we exchange ideas, and a strictly regional perspective is not always very engaging.

Should you make a stink? Yes, but not one that involves a board of directors. Ghandi said, “Be the change that you wish to see in the world,” so offer to curate a show at an arts organization that accepts curatorial proposals. Volunteer to sit on jury panels so that you understand what it’s like to be on the other side of a Slideroom application. Write and publish a manifesto on the responsibilities of jurors, and include the idea that an exhibition that results from a juried call should reflect the geographic makeup of the submissions, and not just the juror’s radius of familiarity. Research smart, ethical ways for artists to get their work in front of curators, and focus on ones that don’t involve fees. Take a hard look at your work and make it better every day. You already know that the art world isn’t a meritocracy, so get out in front of it in ways that don’t irritate your conscience. Good luck!

I work at a museum, but not as a curator or any similar position that might have influence over content. I am sometimes approached by artists (friends, associates, acquaintances, strangers at parties) who want to know how to get their art into a museum. Specifically my museum. What’s the curator’s phone number? Can they drop off a packet? Will I put it on someone’s desk? The way to a museum show is convoluted and not the same for every artist. I’m an artist too, and while I sympathize, I am sure my “help” wouldn’t help them and would jeopardize my professional relationships at work. But I would like to have something to tell people.

Heidi Bucher. Hautraum (Ahnenhaus), 1980-82. Courtesy of Freymond-Guth Fine Arts, Zürich.

You have my sympathies. It must be annoying and kind of frightening to have friends, colleagues, and strangers alike envisioning your job as their fast track to being shown or collected by the museum. I mean, there you are, minding your own business like a cartoon pig out for a sunny walk, while behind every tree lurks a wolf who imagines you as a delicious Sunday ham served up on a fine china platter. Okay, no more similies. You get the idea.

Responding to strangers is easy, because all you have to do with any unknown person who asks you for an inappropriate and presumptuous career favor—one that might induce your colleagues to loathe you—is to just stare at her in silence. The longer the silence, the better, so practice this on your significant other or on the cat. If the stranger doesn’t then fall all over herself to backpedal (“Just kidding! Ha ha! I hate museums!”), then maintain your dead-face and say, “I regret that I’m not able to help you.” You can go to confession later for fibbing about the “regret” part.

Dealing with friends, of course, is more challenging—but as you are a fellow artist, I’m sure you can convey the necessary responses with a certain we’re-in-this-mess-together warmth. The best policy here, as in other situations with friends, is honesty. Assuming your museum does not accept unsolicited submissions, you can just say this in a sympathetic tone of voice accompanied by a rueful grimace. If someone requests a curator’s phone number, you can respond that you don’t know it (if you don’t have it memorized, then this is true) and it’s best to call the museum during business hours. If asked to put a packet on a curator’s desk, just explain that you’re not able to do that because it would irritate your professional colleagues and potentially lead to resentment among your other friends. Frankly, anyone who doesn’t understand this is immature, a jackass, or both.

Heidi Bucher. Untitled (Herrenzimmer), n.d.; latex, cotton; approx. 102 1/4 × 71 × 7 1/2 ̋. Courtesy of Freymond-Guth Fine Arts, Zürich.

I’m glad you point out in your question that having your work exhibited and/or collected by a museum is a tricky (and sometimes lengthy) process. More often than not, and depending on the size of the institution, this transaction might involve: gallerists and art dealers who want to increase the economic and social capital of the artists they represent; museum curators who are looking to acquire new works to fill holes in the collection; collectors who want to increase the prestige of the artists they collect; wealthy people who want to donate artwork for the tax write-off; museum board members who may be cozy with/related to any of the above; acquisitions team(s) who are making estimated guesses about the future of art history; and other contingent interpersonal and marketplace considerations that we don’t have space to go into here. I don’t blame any artist for wanting to get a foot in the door, but having a preparator or junior development associate leave a packet on a curator’s desk is, at best, a naïve waste of time and writable CDs.

A final suggestion: Consider asking friendlier members of the curatorial staff if they have any insight into the matter. You can explain that you’re getting hit with this particularly sticky request, and you want to formulate a stock, fact-based response in advance. That way, the next time you’re called upon for an eyebrow-raising favor, you can preface your answer with, “You know, I asked around at the museum, and their curatorial/acquisitions policy is…” Good luck!

I am a painter who recently graduated from art school but haven’t had much gallery experience and I was interested in submitting work to some juried shows as a way of gaining some experience and making some new connections. I was wondering if you could offer some advice on finding reputable juried shows to apply to. I have googled around but haven’t found much.

Juried shows can indeed be a great way to gain experience and build your resume, but “reputable” is a relative term. Here are a few questions to keep in mind as you go about sorting through the listings on websites such as College Art Association, Re-title and WOOLOO:

1.) Is there a fee? How much does it cost to apply? Most juried shows charge a fee to review your work and this often goes toward administrative costs such as paying the juror. It’s usually around $30 for 3 images, but you’ll find some that ask for excessive fees (I know of one that charges 65 euro!) and some that charge no fee at all (usually at community colleges or other small regional venues). Set a budget for this career expense and decide what your upper limit is. If you’re independently wealthy you can toss your money around with abandon, but if you are on a limited post-graduation budget you might want to target your applications very carefully.

Bear in mind that a high entry fee does not guarantee a high-quality exhibition. Follow the call-for-entry’s link back to the home website and take a look. Does it appear professional? If it’s an annual show, how was the work from previous years? Have prior exhibitions received attention from the press? The information on the website should help you decide if the institution provides quality programming. If there’s no website, don’t apply!

Henry Taylor, Another Wrong, 2013. Acrylic on canvas, 116 x 75 1/2 x 2 1/2 inches

2.) Where is the exhibition? In other words, who will see the show? If it’s at a small town community college gallery, the audience might largely consist of the students and professors (and I’m not saying that’s a bad thing), whereas a commercial gallery in a medium-sized city might draw a more diverse group of art patrons. Think about what audience you’d like to have. Since you’re early in your career, getting work in front of audiences is the first priority. Sales are great, but exposure to an engaged audience is a critical investment in your future.

3.) Who will jury the show? Often times gallerists or curators from museums/other arts institutions will jury exhibitions outside of their normal habitat. If you see that a curator who has shown interest in the type of work you make is the guest juror for a show, by all means apply. You should always google the juror to see what comes up.

4.) Who pays for shipping and insurance? This goes hand in hand with our first question. As you apply to various opportunities, you’ll have to consider what it would mean for your bank account if you actually get in! Very few juried shows pay for the artists to ship their work, so make sure that you have the money to crate and ship a large canvas across the country. This is an important consideration, so factor it into your financial calculations.

5.) Will the show travel? Is there a catalog? If the exhibition is going to travel to several venues, you’ll get more bang for your almighty buck. Nothing builds a C.V. faster and easier than a travelling exhibition! Likewise, a catalog can be a helpful document to have as you begin your career. Publication of your work in catalogues lends credibility to your practice.

Henry Taylor, installation view at Blum & Poe, Los Angeles, 2013

Above all, you should only apply to shows that actually fit your work. If you send images of painted landscapes to a themed show about Futurism, you won’t get in and you won’t get your money back. Take a cold-eyed look at what your work really is and then only apply to exhibitions that would be a good match.

Being organized with your applications right from the start will save you a lot of headaches in the long run. Even if you loathe the mundane realities of administrative work, take fifteen minutes to set up a basic spreadsheet so that you can track deadlines, completed entries, related expenses, etc. This document will serve you very well when you need to remember who has what artwork, and for how long. Don’t submit the same work to shows with overlapping exhibition dates. You don’t want to burn a bridge if you are accepted to both!

As hard as it may be, it’s also important to save rejection letters or emails—I don’t know how it works in other countries, but if you file taxes in the US and are audited, the rejection letters could help prove that you are working as a professional and actively pursuing an income.

While you are doing your research, keep an eye out for alternatives to juried shows: libraries, cafes, and other venues hang artwork but don’t often put out calls for entry. Ask around to see who might be interested in your work. Also, think about staging a show with some friends (see this old column, second Q&A). This has the triple advantage of giving you real experience on how to organize and hang a proper exhibition as well as getting your work out into the world. Good luck!