The Mysteries of the Press, Part II

On the heels of this post last week, Jerry Saltz offers some advice for dealers in his latest "Ask an Art Critic" column that even after nearly 10 years in the business I wasn't entirely clear on. Here's the bulk of it:

My No. 1 rule for dealers is: Never use your sales pitch on a critic. Ever.

I can’t tell you how much I hate it, and it happens constantly. I’m looking at art in a gallery, and after two or three minutes the dealer strides out to say hello. He (or she) then starts explaining. He tells me what the artist says the work is about. He repeats some pithy thing the artist said, or recites a text the artist thinks viewers need to know to understand the work. Curator X was just here, I learn, while the art was being packed for Biennial Y. "Artists especially" like this work -- Chuck Close, or Chris Ofili, or Maurizio or Klaus or Brice. (I always want to say "Maurizio likes everything," but I don’t.) Some dealers talk about who’s buying the work, which museum-purchase committees are considering it, how much it sells for.

All this erases me as a critic and as a person. I want to say to the dealer, "Be quiet: I can’t hear myself see."

This is a real service that Jerry's providing here. The truth of the matter is many dealers are unsure what the exact protocol is for interacting with art critics. Of course, simply leaving them alone is always an option (I know one high-profile critic who confessed that the folks at [Gallery X] always completely ignored him whenever he visited there and that he really respected that).

But what Jerry and the other critics may not (or may) appreciate is that some of that behavior is driven by how much younger galleries in particular are praying (that's right, not just hoping, but actually praying) for press for their artists or at the very least something they can report back to their artists who, seeing the critic's signature in the sign-in book, will later grill them for any feedback at all: "Did she say anything? How long did she look at it? Did you get the sense that she was going to write about it? Did she take the press release? Did you tell her about [this or that aspect of the work]?" Ask any dealer, and they'll tell you that during these grillings the voice inside their head is saying two things: "I want this review as much as you do, trust me" and "What do I look like, a mind reader?"

In a way, adopting the "simply leave the critics alone" option as a gallery rule would help reduce those rather painful exchanges. "We never bother the critics while they're looking. So we'll both just need to wait and see if he writes about it." Of course, many artists will still want a play-by-play account of how much time they spent, whether they took the press release, etc.

To be honest, though, there can be (not always, but sometimes) tell-tale signs that a critic is going to write about a show (in addition to how some of them simply come right out and say so, although different publications work differently I understand, with some critics being assigned what to review and others coming back to their editors with suggestions of their own). These signs are never conclusive, but often provide some clue. They include: if they visit the exhibition more than once, if they're taking notes while viewing, if they ask directly for a press release or checklist...things like that. Anything short of that (combined with a rather quick viewing) tends to mean no review is forthcoming.

And this is only one part of the uncertainty younger dealers have with how to interact with the press. Many I know are completely unsure what is the proper response if they do get a review. Is it appropriate to write a thank you note? Is it a faux pas not to? What if they got something wrong in the review; should you point that out? Should you pass along the artists' appreciation or encourage them to do so themselves?

Early on in our gallery's existence a critic wrote a very nice profile of one of our artists in a major magazine. The next time I saw that critic I was asked whether I had read the article. I said "Yes" but was then admonished because I had never let the critic know that I had read it (i.e., I had never thanked that critic). I understand that that is not typical of most art critics, but it lead me to try to remember to always send at least a quick thanks for reviews we get. I certainly am thankful when it happens, so this seems natural to me. I was simply unsure in the early days and afraid of making a faux pas, so I didn't do it.

Another major critic has told me that it's OK by them if the artist or gallery write to disagree with something they wrote (but noted that it's very much appreciated if it's done with tact). I don't think I have ever done that directly, but do appreciate that that means feedback on their review is not viewed as entirely off limits. Which leads me to assume a thank you note is OK as well.

Ultimately, though, Jerry offers his best advice with this bit:

[L]ately, I’ve taken to looking directly at the dealer and saying, "Trust me. I’m a professional. I know how to look at art alone." If I say this to you, back off a bit. Let me look at your show. If it’s good, I’ll know.

Painful as it is for me to admit this (thinking through how many times I've walked into the main gallery to see if a critic had any questions [I do attempt, and often succeed, in restraining myself, for the record]), Jerry's right here. If a show doesn't speak for itself to a professional art viewer, then no additional explanations or career path anecdotes will make up for that. Of course, I still reserve the right to feel privately that they simply didn't get it :-), but it's not like any chatter on my part is going to change their mind.