Here’s an embarrassing story. When I was younger, I was given the very generous opportunity to start writing at a respected literature magazine in Canada. The editor was a regular at the restaurant I worked at, and we hit it off—he gave me his business card and some of my first bylines.
I was assigned novels, short stories, and memoirs to review. The reviews were brief, and I wrote them frequently. I had just graduated with a Master's in Literature, which I guess I thought made me an expert because every single review I wrote was scathing. Looking back at this decision, my cheeks burn. Writing a book is hard. Instead of reading for enjoyment and engaging with the work where it was at, I held them up to the writers I most respected coming out of school. Not everyone has to be Anne Carson!
I was also wrong a lot of the time. One of the books I panned went on to win a major award. Eventually, the magazine stopped assigning me reviews. They probably thought…who does this girl think she is! Who did I think I was? Probably a Very Serious Book Critic.
A few months ago, I had a truly awful meal at a very popular restaurant in Toronto, and it made me think of this time in my life and the purpose and place of negative reviews. My critic brain began to whirl, and I started writing my takedown. Soggy salad, a few days past its best before date. Inattentive service. Steak that tastes like rust. I decided to simply not return and leave it at that (although I will tell you what restaurant it is if you ask).
A restaurant review has a clear purpose. It provides helpful guidance on where to spend your money and guides you toward a palatable experience. What is the point of art criticism? I view it as a way to provide an entry point to art, planting a seed of an idea that a reader can engage with and growing the conversations around an artwork. Since my days as a young book critic, I’ve formed some loose guidelines for myself when it comes to negative or critical reviews:
No punching down.
Does the angle speak to a larger issue or trend?
Would I find writing about the work interesting?
Is there something else I would rather be writing?
To be honest, there’s a more nuanced answer about how small the art world is. How will my relationship with that gallery change if I write a critical review? How will I feel when faced with the artist at an opening? Will I become a person non grata within a community of artists? Would I hurt someone’s feelings?
These are things that a capital C critic wouldn’t admit to. If it were important, I’d still write a critical review—but I’d worry about these risks. In most cases, art that I don’t like doesn’t interest me enough to spend a prolonged time thinking about. Just like the restaurant, I move on.
On Instagram this week, Jamian Juliano-Villani posted a scathing reply to Manhattan Art Review, who reviewed her recent show at Gagosian. The review states, “If abject trash that's this bluntly obvious really amuses you guys then your dopamine receptors are more shriveled and broken than I thought they were.” Which…ouch. If you don’t follow Manhattan Art Review, they’re known for writing critical, scathing, and honest reviews of exhibitions in NYC. I like them, mostly because they adhere to my number one rule: “no punching down.” The writing style is effervescent and quick; there’s no art speak to be found, which makes for an easy read. I often don’t agree with Sean Tatol, but he at least offers a clear point of view I can push my opinions against.
It’s fair for an artist to react to a negative review. Artists put a lot of time, money, effort, thought, and themselves into their art. What erks me is the chorus of people who think negative reviews should not exist. Or even worse, the adage that critics are failed artists. Please!! I can only speak for myself when I say I’m not a failed artist; writing was my first choice. It shouldn’t be hard to believe that people want to be writers—there’s a rich history of cultural criticism to follow in the footsteps of.
I’m a writer because I’m interested in the world around me, not because I’d rather be an artist. This line of reasoning, “Let me see what kind of art you make,” is a false equivalency. While I’m sure a writer could not make the artwork they’re reviewing, the artist also could not write the review. That’s because they’re different careers. You don’t need to know how to do something to form an opinion on it (although you should know the basics of technique, at least theoretically!). I’m not a chef, but I still know what good food tastes like.
Critics aren’t disgruntled failed artists aiming to take down successful artists; they’re an integral part of the art ecosystem that promotes conversation and critical thought. This kind of rhetoric about writers—that they’ve failed at their first choice—hints at bigger issues within the art ecosystem.