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.
I wear many hats in the art world, one of them as an art critic. Until recently, I have only accepted offers to attend press previews and other pre-public opening events at large-scale institutions when I knew I was actually going to write about a show. Increasingly, I realize I cannot predict whether I will want to write (or should write) about a show until I see it. Also, as someone who covers a huge metropolitan region, I need to stay abreast of the local art scene, but also schedule my own writing time with care. I want to keep track of shows, but I can’t cover it all. Is it okay—ethically, journalistically—to accept these invitations, attend press previews, and NOT write about the exhibition? I’m not trying to run a scam, but I do feel slightly dishonest. Should I even be worried about this? Thanks for your continued sagacity.
John Baldessari. Pictures & Scripts: Honey – What Words Come to Mind?, 2015; diptych: varnished inkjet print on canvas with acrylic paint; 108 x 67 1/2 x 1 1/2 in.
In brief: Yes, you can and should go to press previews; no, you shouldn’t worry that you’re violating some ethical or journalistic code. Instead of wrapping it up with the short answer, perhaps we should talk about why you might feel uncomfortable, and what you can do about it in the future.
A press preview is an industry event that critics attend in order to determine whether they’ll be able and willing to invest their time in a conversation about the artworks. It can be very difficult to predict if you’ll want to write about a show before you’ve seen it, even if you’re already familiar with the artist’s oeuvre—and woe betide the critic who has already sent a pitch to her editor and then makes everyone’s life difficult by backing out a few days before the deadline. No critic can cover every show, even in a small city, so she must determine which of the exhibitions on offer will be the beneficiary of her attentions. In order to do this, she must possess a modicum of facts about the work, and attending press previews and seeing a lot of artwork as it is best seen (in person, without needing to elbow through a crowd of selfie-taking nitwits) is a great way to get the facts.
Some of the anxiety you feel might be attributable to the press officers who organize such events. Having eaten my share of mini-quiches at preview breakfasts, I can attest to the subsequent pressure that press officers sometimes bring to bear on the situation. I’ve had my hand pumped, been flirted with, had exhibition catalogs pressed into my arms, fielded aggressive appeals to interview artists and curators, and indeed been asked outright, “Are you going to write about this show?” before even being led into the galleries.
But press officers aren’t bad people, they’re just doing their jobs. In my experience, their interest in your thoughts is genuine, which is what makes them very good at what they do. Bless them, they are just trying to make the path to writing about the exhibition as frictionless as possible, which is why so many will tell you, “Just email me if you need anything.”
Despite the apparent warmth of these gestures, what you’re feeling underneath is the icy pressure of a universal cultural system of exchange, a psycho-social contract that’s bound up with ideas of duty and can be traced back to various ancient religions (see Freud, Sigmund). Of course, the contemporary art-criticism version of quid pro quo—we feed you canapés and champagne, you write a glowing review—generally goes undiscussed; you’re picking up on the subtle signals that tell you that if you don’t reciprocate, you’re not holding up your end of the deal. But the simple truth is that attending previews is your end of the deal. The boxed wine is an enticement designed to get you to the event, not the devil’s own down payment on a published review. What you bring to the bargain is your curiosity, knowledge, and intellect, not to mention a face in the crowd to help create more buzz, all of which are quite valuable to the institutions hosting press events. Anyone who says that you are obligated to write a review after attending a press preview is wrong; when a good press officer arranges a comfortable event and invites every writer in town, she knows that she is just playing the odds—drop enough lines in the water and surely someone will bite the hook.
If you’re ethically minded, there are limits to what you’ll be able to accept. For some, a museum presser with a snack is fine, a free catalog is respectable, but fine dining with a commercial gallery’s director and the exhibiting artist is not. Others might feel it is fair to accept lodging and transportation to an exhibition—though these usually come with an explicit understanding that you’ll write about the work. Think about your integrity, your ideals, and where you would draw the line. A much older critic once regaled me (or so he thought) with heyday tales of an art-criticism payout. He was flown first-class to a great city, put up at a four-star hotel, wined, dined, and chauffeured to the opening. He estimated the total cost to have been in the neighborhood of $10,000; of course he wrote a favorable review of the exhibition. But, other than a view into a mythical past when critics apparently had some compelling power, what he showed me was how unscrupulous he could be, and I couldn’t help but look at his work in a spurious light.
To remain au courant, an art critic must be constantly (re)engaged in contemporary conversations. Your life as a critic will be easier if you can shed the feeling of being obliged to review every show you see, and avoid the situations that make you feel as though you would have to compromise your true view of the work in order to “pay back” what you’ve been given. Good luck!
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