Help Desk is where I answer your queries about making, exhibiting, finding, marketing, buying, selling–or any other activity related to contemporary art. Submit your questions anonymously here. All submissions become the property of Daily Serving.
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!
