Orit Gat is a writer and contributing editor of
Rhizome. She lives in New York, USA. Orit Gat article in the frieze magazine, Issue
167, November-December 2014, about Gilda Williams new book on how to write
about contemporary art.
Let’s assume there is a crisis in art writing. The
past decade saw a number of essays, books, panel discussions and events
debating the state of criticism, the death of the critic and the demise of art
publishing. So, let’s imagine that crisis: reviews always simply describe what
is on view rather than say anything about it; catalogue essays never produce
new knowledge, only serve to promote an artist’s market value; and the language
of press releases, so often derided as hollow, has taken over. All those roundtables
that bring critics back from the dead and onto the podium reflect a growing
anxiety over the communicative possibilities of writing.
Gilda Williams worries about all of the above. Call it
by any name – her slightly derogatory ‘art-patois’, mystical ‘speaking in
tongues’, or plain old ‘artspeak’ – it’s all barely comprehensible to Williams.
She sets out to correct this problem in a new book, How to Write About
Contemporary Art (published by Thames & Hudson) which is structured to
untangle the linguistic mess we have supposedly got ourselves into. In
countless bullet points, she describes the field, its key players and its
particular penchants (citing, amongst other things, a number of frieze
articles), and then moves on to discuss style, the work of pitching and the
different forms of writing in the contemporary-art context. Williams’s
methodology is flawless. She brings in some 50 examples of texts, ranging from
exhibition reviews to snippets of catalogue essays and artist statements, and
attentively analyzes them. She highlights the use of active verbs, points out
specific nouns, deconstructs complex grammatical structures and, all in all,
seems to read these samples more closely than anyone has done before. In
confident style – ‘Unless discussing a certain shark floating in a tank, or
that porcelain bathroom fixture signed “R. Mutt”, never assume your reader
remembers or has seen the art’ – Williams stresses that the essential approach
to writing about art should be to answer three questions, easily summed up: (1)
What is it? (2) What might this mean? and (3) So what? This formula is meant to
answer what Williams sees as the inherent paradox of writing about art –
‘stabilizing art through language risks killing what makes art worth writing
about in the first place’.
In the world Williams describes, the old-school critic
is gone, replaced by a ‘jack of all trades’, but she does not dwell on the
origin of this disappearance – the reality of writing about art, which is low
pay, freelance hustle and a constant struggle to keep one’s ethics in check –
or its consequences. While Williams acknowledges that writers are implicated in
some way in the larger art economy, the conclusion she draws is that ‘today’s
critics are not as powerful as they once were […] Occupying almost the bottom
economic tier of the art-industry pyramid, critics are least affected by cycles
of boom and bust. When art bubbles burst, art-writers often have more to write
about and nothing special to worry about. As Boris Groys asserts, since nobody
reads or invests in art-criticism anyway, its authors can feel liberated to be
as frank as they please, writing with few or no strings attached.’ Does a
position of power enslave a writer? Not necessarily. In fact, it could give the
critic further traction and support his/her role as someone that should – and
potentially could – keep the market in check. As for Groys’s assessment that no
one reads criticism anymore, the conclusion that should be drawn from it is
that what we urgently need right now is not more writing, but more critical
writing.
No book could teach a writer to be interesting,
opinionated, engaged or passionate. And that isn’t the objective of this one.
Its goal is to take a discipline that Williams conceives of as highly unregulated
– and professionalize it. In outlining exactly how an auction catalogue differs
from a museum’s wall label and a magazine review, down to the vocabulary and
tone each should accommodate, Williams gives insight to the inner workings of
very different industries: academia, auction houses and mainstream and
professional press. With an eye on the rise of numerous academic programmes in
art writing, a book on the subject could be seen as a democratizing entity, but
the difference between a book and a school is interaction. Even if one recoils
at the idea of needing an MFA in art criticism in order to write for a magazine
– another instance of an art world in which the terms of participation are a
secondary degree, often accompanied by academic debt that few can financially
justify – at least those programmes allow students a sense of community.
Whether found in a graduate programme or not, it is the participation in
discourse and interest in one’s contemporaries that makes someone a critic.
Williams’s technique is married to the work of art – let the work lead you –
which risks resulting in formulaic art writing that neglects the intellectual
context from which the artwork emerges.
Art writing is not an industry in crisis – quite the
opposite. Art publishing has developed into a realm complementary to the work,
not one that merely describes it. The physical and conceptual expansion of what
art can be has also produced a publishing landscape with a positive
anything-goes ethos, which we should promote, rather than suffocate. Writing
about art has become a space in which good writers can discuss anything, lofty
or mundane, from politics to neckties, philosophical trends to internet memes.
While Williams claims that art writing needs to be grounded in descriptions of
the art – the ‘what’s there’ – I’d argue that this extended field of publishing
is what makes for vibrant reading material, whether or not it ever mentions
that this or that video installation has two screens and a total running time
of 15 minutes. Art writing should be sharp and opinionated, but also sometimes
flimsy and erratic. Art writing doesn’t need to be professionalized further –
it needs to be granted room to experiment and expand. These more wayward forms
of writing create an art world that is more perceptive, where what we read is
equal in its intellectual ambition to the work we look at.
